


The Armourer and the Living Weapon

by solarbird



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: 00 Tracer, Additional characters to be added later, Blueberry Lemon Tea, Brainwashing, Canonical Character Death, Conditioning, Everyone Is Gay, F/F, Identity Issues, Implied/Referenced Brainwashing, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Talon!Emily, Talon!Tracer, Unreliable Narrator, Widowtracerly, and no one should, and now that the ending is written there really is so, blackwatch!Tracer, but there was always a little comfort, getting everything you ever wanted, ginger spider, gingerspider, how's that working out for you, hurt-a-little-comfort-but-only-so-much, i had "hurt no comfort" in this, might as well add all of 'em now, no one will forgive me for this, the soldier has a He's Not My Boyfriend, totally his boyfriend
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-12
Updated: 2018-03-15
Packaged: 2019-02-01 11:09:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 26
Words: 55,812
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12703794
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/solarbird/pseuds/solarbird
Summary: Someone had to be the template for Widowmaker, and that someone was an armourer, materials engineer, and former field sniper, all for Talon, named Emily Gardner. She loves her work, just as much her blue counterpart does, and together they make one of the more formidable weapons in Talon's arsenal.But good things can't last forever, can they?Hesitant to read this? Find out more about the story here.





	1. ten standard sets

**Author's Note:**

> This is _not_ part of the _[on overcoming the fear of spiders](http://archiveofourown.org/works/10670052)_ continuity. It is a standalone AU, largely canon-compliant through December 2017, _other than_ talon!Emily and the ramifications thereof.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

>  
> 
>   
> 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The utterly amazing cover art above was drawn by [ccauchemar](http://ao3.org/users/ccauchemar) ([voidsarcade on tumblr](http://voidsarcade.tumblr.com/)) after the story was completed.

"Ten standard sets of combination rounds, please."

Widowmaker stood at the equipment requisition window, order chit laid neatly in front of her. It was not necessary - she wasn't to be refused any request for compatible ammunition. But she went through the motions, regardless, as she did for most things.

Emily leaned out the door from her workroom - "I'll handle this, Jax." She rose from her workbench, shooing the ordinance clerk off off to his filing. "Hey, Blue," the armourer said, warmly, leaning forward onto the counter. "How're you doing?"

"Very well, thank you," the sniper said. Of all the rank and file, only Emily Gardner ever asked. But then - she was the only one who didn't fear her. The only one not of the medical staff who had been involved in her creation. The one who built the metal and composite extension of herself - the Widow's Kiss.

"And your counterpart?"

The assassin placed that extension of herself onto the counter.

"Ooooh, yes," Gardner said, pulling out the special silk cloth she used when handling the rifle. "How is she?"

"As beautiful, and deadly, as always."

"Lovely." Emily purred. "I'm looking forward to the overhaul next month."

"As am I," replied the assassin, with a small, special smile.

"I've got something new. Wait here." The armourer ducked back from the counter, and jogged over to the racks, pulling the requested ten sets - then back to a cabinet by her workbench, where she pulled another two.

"Here're your standard rounds," she said, placing them into a neat pile. "Thumb?" She held up a padd, and the assassin confirmed receipt. "And here..." - she placed two other, unmarked boxes, beside the first - "...is something special."

Widowmaker looked at the other boxes, with interest. "So... what are these?"

"Experimental. Take a look." She pulled one box open - standard set configuration for Widowmaker's rifle - and the second box - standard set configuration for her own.

The sniper smirked. "I take it you would like to go out to the range?"

"Yeh," said the weapon's creator, "but that's just part of it. Check the casings."

Widowmaker picked up one of the rounds, freeing it from its holder. It _felt_ fast. She blinked. "...what is this?"

"Hard light. Vishkar-type technology, made very, very small, and very, _very_ hard."

"Incroyable," she breathed. She rolled the round in her palm. Her standard rounds - really, there was very little "standard" about them, not in a real sense, they were all made for her. But this... she could almost feel the kill just holding it. It excited her. "How did you get this?"

Gardner grinned, wickedly. "Little side project of my own. I'm not just an armourer, after all - I'm a materials engineer." She picked the round out of the Widowmaker's palm, rolling it around with her fingertip a little bit, first. "How 'bout it, Blue? You're not on base that often, we don't get many chances - is it a date?"

Widowmaker looked at the hand-built rounds, and felt... warm. "You designed these, all on your own. Just for me."

"I most certainly did," she smiled. "And a set for myself, so we can try them together. If they work out - I can make more." She boxed the two special sets of rounds back up. "My duty shift ends at 16-hundred. I've scheduled two distance lanes. You in?"

The living weapon's golden eyes glittered. "Of course."

\-----

"Now," said the armourer, "they are, as you've already guessed, _faster_. That's the first difference."

The assassin purred, and leaned against the ginger. "How _much_ faster?"

"Muzzle velocity, 1100m/s. About ten percent faster than you're used to."

"Faster than the Finnish arctic rounds. Ooh la la."

Emily leaned up, and nuzzled into the Widowmaker's ear. "But better - they _chamber_ faster. We could adjust the mechanism speed up nearly twenty percent."

"I _like_ you."

"I _know_. And you haven't even seen the best part."

"Oh?"

"As much as I hate to say 'hands to yourself,' love - let me show you."

Emily brought up the most lifelike target dummy - the one used to show splatter effects - and brought up her own rifle. The testbed for the Widow's Kiss, it was largely similar, but different in small details - including the faster chamber rate, but she didn't see the need to rub that into her beautiful weapon's face.

She fired a single combination shot, into the dummy's head. It did not so much explode, as vaporise. Her breath caught at the beauty of it, and she fired another into the target's chest, and it exploded, target marker flying red everywhere. She shivered at the sight, thrilled - as she knew her counterpart would be, and she looked back over her shoulder, to her left, just in time to see Widowmaker already back against her.

"Give," she demanded. "Now."

"I knew you'd like them."

The blue woman took her cartridges, discarded her current set, and loaded the new rounds. Even without the increased chamber rate, she could feel them moving like ice through her rifle, cold, and fast. She fired three times, instantly feeling alive, reducing the target both to precisely tailored vapour. "...manifique..." she whispered, visibly moved. "We have to get these on live targets."

"I know." Emily put her arms around her blue perfection, resting her head upon the back of her neck. "It's - strictly speaking, it's a distortion, not an explosion, but it has the same effect, and you have none of the downsides of explosive rounds."

"That is a large number of words to use to say _devastating_."

"Devastating rounds" - she blew gently against the back of Widowmaker's neck - "for a devastating weapon."

"So few, though - shall we make good use of them?"

"Yes," the armourer purred. "Let's."

\-----

Emily nuzzled Widowmaker's bare shoulder as they lay together, exhausted, but oh, so deeply satisfied. "I wish I could be out there with you."

Widowmaker raked her fingernails along her lover's breasts, watching her shudder from the roughness of her touch. "They refused, again?"

"Of course." The Englishwoman sighed, after catching her breath again. "I knew they would. I am 'too valuable where and as I am.'"

"The process... would change you. It certainly changed me."

The armourer laughed. "It would change me less - after all, I was part of the template."

"The _best_ part of the template," said the assassin. "But they fear losing your engineering skills?"

"Yeh. I just... oh, love, I miss it. I miss being a field sniper. And knowing how much better I could be, than I was, as you _are_..." Her hands formed into tight fists, raised to her mouth. "I want it, so much."

Widowmaker took the hands, and opened them, and soothed her lover's brow. "I know. I know. Be calm. I know. Remember - you create me. You are part of every kill I make."

"I know," sighed the ginger. "I just wish we could be together. We would be utterly unstoppable."

"I wonder, sometimes, if more than anything else," murmured the assassin, "that is why they do not allow it."

Emily smirked. It made sense. But she also knew that of all the places in the world she could be, Talon was the best. Talon let her do so much, do so many amazing things, gave her access to so many resources - and paid her well, atop everything else. And she loved it, she truly did. And then, she was able to help create _her_...

She shook her head. "I have so much. You call that Overwatch girl foolish, but I think I'm the foolish one. I should be happy. And I am."

"But it is not the same."

"No. But it's awfully, awfully good, more than I thought I would ever have, and... it's the best I'll get." She shifted around, resting her head on that strong shoulder. "Kill for me, and I will be satisfied."

Windowmaker laughed, a soft, rolling sound. "I already do. I always, always kill for _both_ of us, ma chérie."

"I love you, so much."

"I know."


	2. the emptied chamber

And then, one day, she was gone.

Emily howled like a banshee when she heard. A perfectly ordinary mission, a perfectly ordinary encounter with a decidedly, almost determinedly predictable opponent, and - gone? Just like that? No. Refusal, in purest, distilled form.

She spent an evening raging on the training grounds, injuring half a dozen opponents, all but killing one in her fury.

She spent a night barely sleeping, barely thinking, being apart so different now, so much worse because suspicions or not, she had no true idea where her lover might possibly be.

She spent a morning raging at Akande, demanding the right to follow, to retrieve, and was, again, refused.

She spent an evening demanding the same from the greater council, and was yet again, refused. "Impossible!" she shrieked, bursting out into the hallway. "I _will not_ have it! I _won't!_ "

Quietly, at the back of the table, one member of the council smiled, as the armourer stormed back to her workshop, ordering everyone out, and grabbed her rifle, enough standard rounds to kill an army, all the experimental rounds she'd made, every single one of them, and the chain grapple she'd made for herself, knowing that her unenhanced body would be wracked with pain, injured every time she used it.

She did not care, not at all. _If they won't try to retrieve her - I will. And I'll **make** them stop me_.

She made it further, far further, than she should've, then she could've rationally expected.

She made it past the therapist, and her security escort, roused to talk her down.

She made it past the security cordon, roused quickly to sedate and jail her.

She made it past the soldier ring, who weren't expecting anyone like her - certainly, not coming from the inside.

And, shoulder aching, exhaustion creeping up her spine, she made it 20 metres outside the base entirely - just short of her waiting flyer - when her neck suddenly stung, and her vision turned grey, and her skin turned numb, and her arms turned leaden, and the ground came up to meet her, fast, too fast, far too quickly for her even to say hello, before the world snapped hard to black.

\-----

_[Oasis]_

She floated, freely, in the haze, slowly becoming aware of that, slowly becoming aware of her own existence. So calm. So still. So bright. So quiet. So unlike herself, and yet, so familiar, so like herself, so right.

 _Is this death?_ she thought. _No... that can't be it. Death is... death is... peace, but not questions... and that was a question..._

She didn't move. She didn't feel any urge to move, either. But if she listened, listened with her body, and not her ears, she could feel, she could feel motion, she could feel... what? She could feel her blood flowing. She could feel her heart slowly beating, she could feel everything in the little world that was her own.

_What? What is... that?_

A whisper. The faintest of whispers, a voice she knew, but not the one she wanted, a voice familiar, but not the one she loved, but... a voice. And words - "Ah, my lovely, do you feel it? Starting to rebuild in there, are we? Good."

She could feel so much, and yet, some things, she could not feel at all. With a beautiful clarity, she felt every strand of muscle, every shaft of bone, every length of tendon, every fibre of carbon and metal, every drop of blood, and oh, blood, there is so much of it, but so little past that, nothing outside...

 _Outside. There is a boundary?_ Yes. Of course. Skin. She has skin. Of course, she has skin, and she can feel it. So obvious, and yet, somehow, now, so novel, as though she'd never truly realised it before, not even _before_ before, and she knew there was a before, even if she couldn't quite say what it must have been.

"There was so much," said the voice, "that we had to burn down, with Lacroix. So much to suppress, so much to rebuild, to form into your image - and ours." Fingertips, suddenly, along one arm, like electricity, like fire, and she felt as if she screamed, but didn't scream, and didn't even want to, but should have, all from the intensity of the touch.

"All that, when we already had _you_. We even knew it - well, _I_ knew it - that's why you were the perfect template. You were already so completely, utterly prepared. And yet, we wasted so many months making a muted copy... but, well, you know that, or you will, again, in a few minutes. After all, you were there." A small laugh, and the touch vanished.

"And all you have to do is bring her back to us," the voice cooed. "Bring her back to _me_. Something you begged us to let you do. Then we can take all the things we've learned, making you, and give them to her, too, just like we've given them to you. And then you will both be together, and all - all will be forgiven."

 _I get to bring her back_ , she thought, and smiled, at least, inside. _I have... I have a task. I have a mission. How... wonderful..._

"Ah, almost there," said the voice. "Are you ready to be standing?" She realised the voice was louder now, and had been growing so, the entire time. She'd focused on it, so intently, so completely, and yet missed that most obvious point.

 _Moira_ , she knew, feeling herself take a long, slow breath. _Moira O'Deorain. I know her._ She found herself knowing many more things, many more things she'd already known, as if lights were turning on, one at a time, inside herself, her ability to conceptualise expanding, growing. _The doctor. The one who..._

"Ah, your first breath entirely on your own. How does it feel for you to be alive again, I wonder? It's been twelve weeks, you know - or, well, you know now."

 _Balance_ , she thought, feeling being poised, ready, in an effortlessly familiar way, and gravity, the pull of gravity, aware of it, at last. _I'm not floating, I'm... standing._

"Are you ready to see?"

She was. She opened her eyes, spotted a running, ducking human target, and reflexively, without thinking, without _needing_ to think, sighted that target with the metal and carbon extension of herself she held in her arms, and shot it down. She felt the bullets fly, so pure, so fast, so quick; blood spilled from the shattered skull as the body which had supported it slumped to the ground, heart still beating, at least, for a moment, spurting blood, and she admired the splatter, from her stance, not needing to move, watching the blood pool, so bright, so red, and felt it, through every cell of her body, through sinew and bone, through nerve and steel, through heart and soul, and it took what was left of her breath completely away.

"Beautiful," said the voice, by her side. "Superb."

She licked her cool, lavender lips, with a cool, violet tongue, shivered with pleasure, and turned to the good doctor beside her, appraising her anew through brilliantly silver eyes. " _Delicious_."

"Do you know your name?" asked the Talon doctor, the one who had given her everything she ever wanted, for a price she did not yet know. "Tell me who you are."

"Oilliphéist," she said, without thinking, just knowing, having never said or heard the word before, yet she knew, it was a great, ravening beast - as was she. "I am _Oilliphéist._ "

"Perfect."

\-----

_[London]_

Widowmaker lay next to a sleeping Tracer, gazing at the foolish girl's head, amused by the insanity of that hair despite the swirl of thoughts keeping her awake. _This entire plan is falling apart_ , she thought.

 _What else could go wrong?_ she asked herself. It'd seemed so simple, at the time. So obvious. Pretend to fall in love with the irritating teleporter. Arrange a "defection," and get away from the abusive mess that is Talon. They'd finally accept Emily's petitions to upgrade, and send her out to bring her back. She'd help Emily break the conditioning, as she learned so well now how to do, and then Emily would have everything she ever wanted, they'd be together, and Widowmaker would be free. They could freelance. They could buy an island with a condominium on it. It would be wonderful.

Instead - nothing. Emily hurt, badly, trying some sort of mad run to retrieve her without upgrades, after being refused yet again. No concerted recall effort - just an "acquire if encountered" order, according to Sombra. And worst of all - worst of _all_ \- discovering she'd actually fallen for the hyperactive little idiot across from her in bed.

Disaster. Complete disaster.

 _Ah, well_ , she thought, _at least it makes the acting easier_. She smirked at herself. _Acting is trivial if you don't actually have to act_.

She rolled over, facing away from her new lover, and checked her dead-drop boxes again. Nothing... then, she blinked, and there was something, something new, appearing as she watched.

> `Hey, Chica, it's your best friend -`
> 
> `I'll keep this short. The official story? It was bogus. Most of the club haven't figured that out yet, but turns out Doc Two-Tone's been working on her out of town, and from what I hear, looks like she got your present after all.`
> 
> `But watch out, she's not a backup copy, she's a version two. Keep your eyes open. I don't know what new features have been bundled in, and you know what Two-Tone is like when she really gets going. She might not know either.`
> 
> `Good luck.`

She'd signed it, "your favourite chupacabra" - one of Sombra's many running jokes the spider didn't understand.

"Mmmm?" she heard, from the woman next to her. _Damn,_ she thought. _The light from the screen woke her up._

The Overwatch agent rolled over and nuzzled the back of her neck. "G'morning, love. Whatcha lookin' at?"

The spider took a long, deep breath. _I think... it is time to come clean._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pronunciation of [Oilliphéist](https://duckduckgo.com/?q=pronunciation+Oilliph%C3%A9ist&t=ffsb&ia=answer&iax=answer).
> 
> Thanks to bzarcher for a beta-read of the core of this chapter.
> 
> If I can keep pace, I'm kind of planning on updating this story on Thursdays. At least, that's my plan at the moment.


	3. the waiting game

Oilliphéist wandered through the upper halls of the empty Château Guillard. _So this is where the other half has been living_ , she thought, dreamily. _It's nice._ She danced through the halls, with their old, grey walls, and their old... _no... it's not all grey, is it?_

 _Hello_ , she thought, turning the corner. _New paint!_ Not fresh, not wet - dry, with sealed canisters full of more, put away, for the moment, obviously to be used later, blue, blue like _her_ blue, blue not entirely unlike her _own_ blue, and she put her hand up on it, comparing the colours, smiling - not the same, but well paired.

 _I wonder if Talon would let us live together, now_ , she thought, smiling, still so light, so calm. _Ah, it doesn't matter, does it? Moira will make sure they will._

 _Oh, this room's red! A library? An office? A bit of both, maybe?_ Most importantly, an actual laptop, obviously the spider's home system, and she rushed over towards it, feeling as though she was gliding, so smooth, so light.

Logged out, of course, and in standby, and she had no idea what the password might've been, though the login - Danielle Guillard - made her smile, again. _I'll take this with me_ , she decided.

Turning, she looking around the room, catching the scent of her other half, and keened a little, missing her so much more now, so much more, and that's when she saw her face - an old picture, not blue, but pale pink, and not truly her spider, her weapon, but Amélie, Amélie with _him_ , Gérard, and she snarled from memory, and ran over to the frame, grabbing it, _You fool, you wretched idiot, she is **mine** now, and..._

...she realised she didn't care. At least, not presently - only in memory. She'd been so... jealous? Was that the word? No. But something, and now nothing. That was new. She'd hated Gérard - not that she'd ever met him - for every reason and for none, and had cheered when Widowmaker had killed him, her _first_ kill outside training, so beautiful... but now, he was nothing, and the memories faded to grey.

She looked at the frame again. A photograph of a dead man and a lost woman, that's all. Irrelevant to her, to her spider, to her _mission_ , and she wondered why she still held the frame, and she put it back down, back where it had sat before she picked it up, only disturbed dust revealing it had been touched.

Footsteps. Boots. Heavy, coming from the wine cellar. Two groups, she could hear them, the sound bouncing off the walls differently, six in each. The sound of ammunition and belts and guns. A silent alarm, triggered by the picture? Or just by her presence in the room. _It doesn't matter. But then_ , she thought, _neither do they. Target practice!_

She smiled, broadly, readied her rifle, and relocated herself to a better position, just to see what they'd do - and what they did was demand surrender and open fire, with very little time between, but she was no longer there, and she returned fire, anticipating their dodges, watching them run side to side in such obvious, predictable patterns, and she made a game of it - this one, shot through the left eye, this one, shot through the right, this one, the centre of the forehead, this one from above, the final two in group one, up close, a domino shot, temple to temple to temple to temple, and she laughed, joyously and freely, bathed in blood and wonder.

She didn't even notice the Talon insignia until she was halfway through the second six, and it cost her a moment, a moment of grace, and for that, she grew angry, and so, she left the last one alive, constraining, for the moment, her delight in deaths, as she stood over him, his spine broken, his legs useless, her fangs, her two sharp blades, at his neck, not even blessing him with gunfire.

"Why?" she asked, "were you such fools?" as she doodled with one blade's tip along his carotid artery, imagining the blood it would draw with just the slightest bit more pressure. "Were you looking for _her?_ You would've fared no better."

"...Em?" said the Talon soldier, through a cough. "...Emily?"

Oilliphéist tilted her head just a little to the side. Emily? Oh, of course, Emily. Who she once was, who she _still_ was, though she hadn't even thought the name since reawakening. "Ooooooh, I remember you! Sven, isn't it?" Her smile shifted, just a little. "How's the new ammo working out?" She looked around. "Oh. Not well, I suppose. But I guess that's mostly my fault."

"Emily, why, why do you look like Widowmaker, have you been..."

"Ah, ah, ah, that's not an answer." She poked him, just a bit, with the tip of the fang. "I liked you, Sven. You always took such care of your rifles and pistols, they'd come back so clean, so nicely kept. I'd hardly have to work on them at all. So... why all this?"

"We thought... we thought you were her. Orders are to secure and kill or capture."

"Oooh, an upgrade for you, too? Orders-wise, at least? Last I heard, it wasn't a search, it was just... on opportunity."

"We're, we were supposed to beat anyone else to her."

 _Oooooh, **very** interesting_ , she thought. "So you don't know where she is either, then?"

"No, we don't. Em, please... Let me patch myself up, I'll say we attacked you first, that I'm sorry, it was our fault..."

"Oh, no, it's fine, Sven, I don't mind at all - it was an honest mistake," she reassured him, just before she sliced through his neck, and cleaned her blade, watching the blood pool so elegantly along the grout of the stonework, spreading everywhere as his eyes stilled and lost their sight. "Don't worry. Rest, now." She patted his head, and closed his eyes. "I'll find her. And I'll bring her home."

\-----

"Wait, love - you're telling me... she's... your template? What's that mean?"

"It means," said the Widowmaker, "that they did not create me out of whole cloth. They... borrowed. They found what they wanted elsewhere, and copied it. From her, came my love of the kill. Amongst other things."

"So you're ... her, but turned up?"

"Oh, no. That part of me is her... but turned _down_. I cannot even imagine what she would be like, with that turned _up_."

Tracer shook her head, trying to imagine that, but not quite getting there. "And yet, somehow, she was," she gestured with her hands in no particular direction, "functional? And your lover."

"I was designed not to feel anything, except joy at kills. But... it was not always entirely so, and I realised, that was towards other people. In part - in _this_ \- she is _not another person_ , she is _me_. Or, I suppose... I am her. And I could feel for her, because she was myself, and so I did."

Tracer thought it out. _Wow_ , she thought. _No wonder they didn't think of it. Who would?_ "So that's what..." She looked at the empty wine bottle next to the bed, left over from last night. "That's what broke the seal, then. Freed the cork."

Widowmaker nodded, amused by the reference. "And it grew more difficult over time to pretend it had not happened. With her, I did not need to contain myself - not in my love of the kill, not in anything. With her, I could be free. And once I knew what she wanted, I arranged my best plan to make it happen, as a gift. Once she came for me, I'd planned to..." she struggled for words," ...return the favour, and help her free herself the same way I freed myself. But if they have changed their methods..."

"Then it won't work. And you're just a defector, and she's coming after you, and that's all it's gonna be."

"Do not misunderstand, Lena Oxton. I _love_ her. Differently - and more - than I love you. And she loves me still, I'm sure."

"Someone like that can love? Really love?"

"Yes. _I_ am someone like that, and you already know I have found myself... burdened with love for you."

"Blimey, you're a romantic. Swept me off my feet with that. But..." She looked intently at her bedmate. "F'real? It's not just an act, anymore? I couldn't tell for sure if you'd actually started feelin' something or if it was just a whole lot better acting, but it felt like y'did."

Widowmaker blinked, stunned. "You... knew?"

Tracer shrugged. "It's not like we both don't like t'take a bit of pressure off, and hate sex is great sex." She smirked, and didn't bother to bring up Prague; she didn't need to. Neither of them would be forgetting. "And hey, the chance to pull a top agent out of Talon? I'll take that."

 _Damn you,_ thought the assassin, a little spike of anger flashing across her face. "And you have been making a fool of me. For... what? Information? Infiltration?"

"Somethin' like that. At least," she stressed, and paused, "...until everything shifted about six weeks ago and suddenly I didn't have t'fake it anymore." She wore a soft half-smile while looking into her lover's eyes, "That's about when it changed for you, too, innit?"

 _Yes_ , the Widowmaker thought, in shock, as her mind reeled. _Damn you, yes_. She shook her head. "I... I'd had no idea... I feel so..."

"Betrayed? Angry? Used? Funny comin' from you, love, you were doin' the same th..."

"Relieved!" the assassin cried. She leaned forward, and grabbed Lena Oxton around the shoulders, pulling the two of them together. "I am so... _relieved_." She started to shake a little, shaking that slowly turned into laughter. "We have both been horrible and terrible and manipulative of each other, and doing it so badly that we have both been caught in our own idiotic webs..." And she couldn't say any more through the giggles, because what fools, what fools they both are, and Lena found herself laughing with her, and they leaned on each other, laughing until tears fell.

"Oh, we're a bloody train wreck, you and me, aren't we?" said Lena, once she had her voice again.

"Yes," said the Widowmaker, wiping the last tear from her left eye, and she leaned forward, and kissed Tracer, gently. "We are a large jumble of wreckage strewn across the tracks, and Talon, I'm afraid, is sending another train."

"You really do love her?"

"I do. She has everything she's ever wanted, now, but it will not be enough - she'll want me, too. And I still want her, just as much."

"Well," sighed Lena. "She saw you first. You're both just lucky I've never been the jealous type."

"Perhaps, if we're very lucky - that might even help us both survive."

"But if she's a killing machine..."

" _I_ am a killing machine."

"If she's a killing machine who can't put a bleedin' lid on it..."

Widowmaker chortled. "Yes."

"Then how's this gonna work?"

"I have absolutely no idea."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I said Thursdays? But Thursday is Second Thanksgiving, so here y'go today.


	4. I miss you so much, but I am afraid

"That's her, then?"

"Her, now, yes," Widowmaker replied to Tracer, as the video from her security cameras rolled. "She ... looks much the same, really, other than her colouring." She tilted her head, and smiled. "So beautiful," she whispered, hands raised in front of her mouth. _And beautifully done, love. Oh, you must be so happy._

"She gonna get anything from that laptop?"

The assassin snorted. "No. I bricked it before 'defecting' - the login screen appears to work, and network probes will show an apparently functional system, but in reality there's nothing there to be found."

"Nice. Useless _and_ delaying," said the Overwatch agent.

"Thank you."

"You really should come in," said Winston, over comms. He'd also been watching the video, a mix of worried and impressed. "We can provide a lot more protection here, at Gibraltar."

"She's fast," said Tracer. "But not as fast as me. I can take 'er."

"Do not underestimate her," said the assassin. "She is still feeling her way into herself. I am... concerned, given what I see here."

Lena turned to her lover. "Should we go in, then? It'd be safer, that's for sure."

"If it is an option, I... I think so. I want to contact her - I think I can still reach her - but I want to do it on my terms, not hers." She reached towards the display, unconsciously, touching it. _I miss you so much, but I am afraid..._

Winston blanched. "The offer wasn't for..." He frowned. "No. I won't do that. I'll talk the others into accepting it, one way or another. The offer is to you both. Lena, should I send an Orca?"

"Nah, I've got my flyer. I can get us there on my own." She leaned over towards the padd's camera. "I know it's gonna be a fight, so - thanks, luv. You're the best."

Widowmaker kept watching the footage as the two Overwatch agents talked, wishing she had audio, as Emily looked up, out of the corner of her eye, noticing, at last, the camera that had witnessed her exhibition. She gave it a discerning look, smiled, chained up to it, and blew a kiss, mouthing, "I love you. See you soon."

\-----

"No, she wasn't there," Oilliphéist said, sadness in her voice. "Not in weeks, I don't think."

Moira nodded across visual comms. "I am entirely unsurprised, but we had to check."

"I ran into Sven, though! It was so nice to see him again. But he was leading a strike team, and they attacked me so I killed them all. He apologised, before he died, and it was so sweet. I told him not to worry - we'd bring Widowmaker home."

The doctor nodded, looking a little concerned. "Did you dispose of the bodies?"

"Oh, absolutely. I swept the entire building clean. I even dusted!" It wouldn't do to leave a mess in Widow's house, after all.

"Did he say anything more?"

"Just that they were hoping to beat anyone else to her."

Moira nodded. "Yes - Akande changed his mind about that once a particular someone found out about you. You're certain you got them all?"

"Oh, yes - it was great fun, you'd have loved to see it. And once I catch up to Widowmaker, maybe you might - I found a couple of active cameras, and I'm pretty sure they were hers."

"Good. Hopefully, I will - I'd've liked to monitor your first real field performance for analysis purposes." She steepled her hands together. "How do you feel?"

"Wonderful," she said, bliss warming her voice. "Everything is so perfect."

"Thank you. Now, if you'd kindly move on to London - Oxton will appear there sooner or later, and I don't see any reason you can't set up a welcome home party. But lay low until then, do you understand?"

"Awwww," said the killing machine, "do I have to?"

"Yes, but don't worry, if my intelligence teams get a definite location on either of them, you'll be the first to know."

Oilliphéist smiled. "You're so good to me."

"Yes," said the Oasis Minister of Genetics. "I am."

\-----

Lena landed her personal flyer outside the Overwatch facility's main entry door, the large one, next to the guidance tower. Over comms, Athena chirped, "Welcome back to Watchpoint Gibraltar, Lena Oxton. Winston is waiting for you inside. Widowmaker, it is required that you leave your rifle in the flyer."

"No," said the Talon assassin, flatly. "Under no circumstances."

"I assure you it will go untouched, and that this facility is quite secure."

Lena broke in. "She can't, Athena, it's part of her. Winston, you there?"

"Hi, Lena. Yes, I am. There has to be a way to do this - her being disarmed on base is the price for sanctuary."

Widowmaker shook her head, and repeated, firmly, "No," while thinking, _This may have been a mistake._

"Widow," said Lena, "you've let go of her before, a lot of times. I've seen you. You don't sleep with her. I mean... I _know_."

"Of course," she smirked. "But she's always in reach."

"Would..." The teleporter's brow furrowed. "...would you trust me to hold her for you?"

"You do not know what you are asking," said the Talon assassin.

"I... I think I might."

The assassin breathed in sharply, surprised, a little shaken despite herself. "And you are asking intentionally?"

"I am," she nodded, looking into the spider's eyes. Not looking away, she continued, "Winston, would that do? Will the team accept it? If not, we... should just leave now."

The blue woman contemplated the offer, hard, diving into racing thoughts, weighing the options, taking a long, deep breath... and found, to her surprise, when she resurfaced, that she was already offering Lena Oxton the Kiss.

Lena nodded solemnly, taking the extension of her lover's self gently into her arms. "Are there... correct ways to handle her?"

"No," whispered the assassin. "Just... just care. And trust."

"May I use her strap, to put her over my shoulder?"

"Of course."

"Thank you," Lena said, gently. She shifted the rifle onto her back with gentleness, letting her lay against the side of her accelerator. She was surprisingly light, and felt unexpectedly comfortable resting there, on her back. "I have the Kiss, Winston." She felt a little like crying, while smiling - a strange feeling, but a good one. "Widowmaker is unarmed. So... how 'bout it?"

Five tense minutes passed before the comms board lit up with Winston's voice. "It was an argument, but... good enough, for now."

Lena let out a long _hoooo_ , and offered Widowmaker her hand. "It'll be all right. Nobody else touches her. Nobody." The assassin took her lover's hand in her own, squeezing it, wordlessly.

Together, Widowmaker and Tracer stepped out of the flyer, Widowmaker sticking close by Lena's side, heading towards the base's massive, reinforced primary doors. Entering, they heard Athena's voice over the soft hissing of the door's quiet glide, saying, "Your sanctuary status is confirmed. Welcome to Watchpoint Gibraltar, Danielle Guillard,” and Widowmaker smirked, just a little. _Clever_ , she thought. _But now I know you know._

Lena blinked, eyes adjusting to the lower light. “Winston? You in here?”

“I am,” he said, meeting them as they rounded the corner. “Conference room A, please. Follow me.”

The three agents maintained a tense silence as they made their way up the stairs and down the short hallway and to the door. “After you,” said the scientist, opening the door. Lena smiled, a bit determinedly, and nodded to the assembled Overwatch agents, who smiled at her, and did not smile at her spider.

"Where's Ana?" Lena asked, while sitting down, just to get it out of the way. It was, after all, the largest elephant of several in the room.

"On her way back to Egypt," Angela replied, from her position at the table. "She was vehemently opposed to this, and, well..."

"Fareeha too?" Lena asked, just before the rocketeer burst in, and kissed Angela on the head.

"Sorry for the late," said the flying agent, before she noticed Widowmaker's rifle on Tracer's back, and Widowmaker herself, unarmed, next to her. She shuddered a little. "That is a very strange sight."

Lena snickered, just a little. "Yeh, I bet. She's not heavy, tho'. Hardly know she's there, and me havin' her seems to keep everyone happy enough."

"I cannot tell if you're talking about the rifle or the assassin," Genji added.

"Both?" hoped Lena. Widowmaker glared a little, but also smiled a little, and it was hard to tell which carried more weight.

"Happy enough," interjected Jack Morrison, " _for now_." He shook his head. "So. This new operative. Do we have a codename for her, or is it just... Emily?"

"Just Emily, so far."

"Knowing O'Deorain," muttered Angela, "it will be something dramatic, and almost cartoonishly Irish."

Widowmaker glanced at the Overwatch doctor and laughed a little, a mix of surprise and actual agreement, covering her mouth with her hands to keep it from becoming a giggle. Lena laughed, too, but everyone else in the room just stared at the legendary assassin in shock.

"You can laugh?" asked Mei-Ling, first to recover.

"She's pretty funny once you get her goin'," chirped Lena. "You'd be surprised!"

"Yes!" said Mei. "I would!"

Widowmaker reverted to her cool, aloof public self before admitting, "The doctor is... entirely correct. It will be both. I suspect it is why she was not permitted to name me. But if she has a free hand, it will be exactly as Dr. Ziegler suggests." She smirked at at the Overwatch medical lead. "Did you work with her in Blackwatch, Angela? Or is this knowledge of her habits more recent?"

"A bit of both," replied the doctor, carefully. "We shared data on a few projects, until I discovered her complete disinterest in ethical standards. And with her position as genetics secretary in Oasis, I cannot completely avoid her even now - not even knowing her Talon connections." She peered at the Talon defector. "But... do you remember me... Danielle?"

The assassin considered the question. "The correct way to put it would be that I have access to memories of you, even if they are not mine, and I do not process them as such."

"Compartmentalisation or complete dissociation?"

"I am not a psychologist. But... I believe the latter would be the more correct... term? Phrase?" She tilted her head, a small frown on her face. "I am surprised you accept this so readily. You haven't even hinted about trying to undo me, to put Amélie back together."

"I knew Amélie well," the medical doctor said, old ache surfacing just a bit into her voice. "And... I have some idea of what they did, physically. She is gone, and, facial features aside, you are nothing like her."

"Thank you," said the sniper, dismissing the smallest of doubts and the tiniest of disappointments from her mind, for now.

"You're welcome," said the doctor. "Let's move on from this painful topic, shall we?"

"Yes," agreed Winston. "We have given you sanctuary. Are you willing to give us intelligence on Talon?"

"If you..." she scowled, and started over. "If we can deal in a satisfactory way with our situation with Emily - meaning that the three of us are safe and alive - and if Overwatch is part of that... I will be willing to provide as much information as I have about Talon to you."

The scientist gorilla nodded, as Morrison jumped in. "A little sweetener wouldn't hurt. How can we know what they bothered telling you? How much of that is even real?"

"A fair critique, that this will answer." She picked up a notepad from the table, and a pen, and wrote down four names, four intelligence groups, and a series of numbers. "These are the top Talon moles in MI5, MI6, Interpol, and the DGSE. I have worked directly with each of them in the past; they report to Akande's personal intelligence director. The numbers are the routing codes through which they receive their payoffs." She slid the notepad across the table. "You're welcome."

Hana Song leaned in, and looked at the names. "Woah, that's - you came prepared!"

"I did."

"How'd they piss you off?" asked Morrison. "What'd they do?"

Widowmaker raised a single eyebrow. "I did not realise you were so insightful."

"Well?"

The assassin smirked. "One was sloppy on an assignment and will probably be discovered soon on her own. One has held a grudge against me since I broke his hand for putting it on my body without my permission; he is not smart enough to realise he was very lucky I did not kill him at the time. The third booked me in the worst hotel in Amsterdam for an assignment and I had to burn my luggage. The fourth..." she shook her head. "Who carries around tubs of butter and salt in their pockets to eat as a snack? It is grotesque, and he needs to die."

" _Really?!_  " said Lúcio, over comms, from Brazil. "Just... straight butter?"

"With added salt. From his pocket."

"That's just weird."

"Be happy you have not ever been burdened with the smell. Death is the only correct response."

Morrison flinched visibly, and, after a moment, said, "...I can't argue with that as much as I should." He blew out a breath, cheeks puffed, putting the imagined odour out of his mind. "If these check out..."

"They will."

"...then this will already have been worth it, as far as I'm concerned."

"Try not to implicate me in their extraction," said the assassin. "They are by no means the _only_ Talon agents in European intelligence." The 'and I have the names of more' was left implied.

The soldier nodded. "I know."


	5. "Hello, cherie," said the Widowmaker, quietly, in her ear

_Definitely not here,_ thought Oilliphéist, scanning the apartment through her infravision sights. _But not so long gone, either._

She'd had no trouble identifying Lena Oxton's King's Row apartment. Tracer's recurring presence had never been a secret to anyone, and Widowmaker already had a pretty decent estimate of the location, before. Emily keened a little, inside, thinking of her, and her absence, and shook it off, floating back up above it, happily. _Soon_ , she thought, smiling again.

She ghosted over to the most likely balcony, and looked in. Definitely the Oxton apartment - who else would have a charging station appropriate for a chronal accelerator? _Alarmed, almost certainly_ , thought the assassin. _Police won't be an issue, but other Overwatch agents might be. We should move quickly, when we do._

Her comm vibrated, silently, the haptics tapping against her skin, and she enabled her earpiece. "Oilliphéist here," she subvocalised.

"Hello, cherie," said Widowmaker, quietly, in her ear. "I have missed you so very, very much."

Emily gasped, entire body tingling, spinning around from the glass door, no longer subvocalising. "Oh, oh, oh, beloved, where are you? Are you nearby?" She reactivated her infravision, scanning quickly around her, near and far, without finding her lover. "I don't see you..."

"I am not where I think you are. You are in London, I suspect?"

"Of course, Moira sent..." said the newer assassin, without thinking, then, upon thinking, not caring she said it. "You are not?"

"No. Not at the moment. But I am desperate to see you."

"I am coming, I promise, I will rescue you, I will bring you home, I swear," the armourer said. "Did you get my message, the one I left via the camera?"

"Yes, I did - you were right, that one was mine."

"Can you speak freely? Are you being monitored? Tell me how to retrieve you."

"Yes, but yes - Tracer is here - and I do not need rescue. My plan has been to rescue _you_ , once you received my gift."

"Once I re..." She blinked, and thought, and thought again, and fire, lovely fire, raged through her mind. "You... you arranged all this?"

"I was certain they would accept your petition, if I disappeared. I'm sorry you got hurt on the way out, but - it did, at least, appear to provide cover."

Emily sank to her knees, shaken, more than she imagined she could be. "You... you did all that, all on your own, just for me?"

"Yes. I was so afraid it did not work, and then, I finally saw you..."

"Oh, beloved, _thank you_. Thank you, thank you, thank you, I am so happy, all the time, everything is..." she stretched, feeling her body, feeling every cell and sinew and rod, "... _wonderful._ "

"They... did not disable your emotions, as they did with me? You do not need that kind of rescue?"

"No. Aunt Moira had a free hand, she left me happiness - and she wanted to give that to you, too. But I told her, there was no need, we'd already done that ourselves, oh, love, you're so brilliant..."

_It worked_ , thought the Widowmaker, back in Gibraltar, gasping softly, quietly, sinking back into the console's chair. _It **worked**_. She smiled, as broadly as she had at Lena when she realised they'd both played each other into actual love, and Lena nodded, and squeezed the senior assassin's hand.

"Tracer," Emily said, a hard edge to her voice, "Since you are listening: you will release Widowmaker, at once. Let her come to me, freely, and I will allow you to live."

Lena shrugged, hands in the air, uncertainty on her face, and mouthed, "You gonna tell her? 'Cause she needs to know." Widowmaker nodded her agreement.

"Emily - I am not a prisoner. Lena has been aiding me in this. At first... we were using each other, but..." she swallowed, "...it became more than that, much like it did with you. I still love you, more than anything else, even the kill, but... I also love her. We want you to come be with _us_ , and away from Talon. Talon would never permit what I have become, and I will not go back to what I was."

Oilliphéist frowned, and tilted her head, and thought, _What matters most?_ , and thought some more. "Everything else aside... you still love _me_."

"More than anything I have ever known in my world."

Bliss washed over the newer assassin like luminescent ocean waves, and she closed her eyes and rocked herself, diving through the joy. "And her?"

"You'll notice... she is still alive."

Oilliphéist breathed out long and slow, accepting the statement on an almost primal level, knowing exactly what the Widowmaker meant - _yes_ , she thought, _she does, more than she is even willing to admit_. She nodded, and smiled, again, though no one could see. _Ah, my spider_ , she thought, _always weaving such beautiful webs._ "Then... then I don't care. If you want her, too, I don't mind. But we have to meet, in person, to work this out. Just us. I have to know you aren't being... coerced."

"Where?"

"Hoof & Haunch, King's Row, seven o'clock tomorrow night? They're already used to your new girlfriend, surely they can handle two women showing up in blue..."

_My home turf_ , Lena thought, and smirked. _And it'll be two on one, if things go south. Easy peasy. But let's not count chickens._ She looked at Jesse, Jesse who'd done this kind of thing before, Jesse who had experience in King's Row, Jesse, who could shoot flies off horses at range, and mouthed, "Backup?" And he nodded, and Lena smiled. _Three on one_. She turned to Winston and mouthed, "Pilot and backup?" And he nodded as well. _Four on one. She tries anything, she'll never know what hit her. We've got this._

"I'm willing if you are," said the Overwatch agent.

Over comms, Oilliphéist's voice, or no, Emily's, specifically, again, so familiar. "How 'bout it, Blue? Is it a date?"

Widowmaker narrowed her eyes, weighing possibilities. Emily couldn't call on Talon for support - the video showed that clearly. It would be her, possibly a few of Moira's personal agents... and not much else. All she'd need to do would be to convince Emily there wasn't any going back, and her original plan would come together, exactly as she'd planned.

_I overreacted to the video_ , she decided. _We can fix this. Most of it has already fixed itself._ They could repair the rest of it, she felt sure.

Widowmaker smiled. "It sounds wonderful. We'll see you tomorrow."

"I can't wait."

\-----

Lena wandered the halls of Watchpoint Gibraltar, late at night, alone, carrying Widowmaker's Kiss on her back, the assassin asleep on the double bed in in Lena's new quarters. Even with much of the new Overwatch together in one place, and generally one building, the facility felt cavernous.

She walked up to the old control centre, lately Winston's office, and looked out the bevelled window. Her flyer sat quietly, below. Tomorrow, they'd take a heavier craft, one with more gear, enough for Winston to scan for incoming hostiles from Talon, or Vishkar, or whoever else might be oh so very interested in the two products of Moira's _Widowmaker_ process.

A door opened, and closed, behind her, and she looked back, over her left shoulder. "Hello," said Winston, loping down the hall. "I thought I heard somebody out here."

"Y'have good ears, y'know that?"

"I do."

Tracer grinned. "Ready for tomorrow, big guy?"

"Are you?"

"I think so."

"I'm surprised you're out here alone, given that you're carrying her rifle. She didn't seem to want it out of her sight, before."

"I asked her, before she went to bed. She... stocks up on sleep before missions? Does that make sense? Says it builds up cellular energy storehouses, so she doesn't have to eat or sleep in the field." Lena shifted the Kiss on her back, just to feel it move. She liked the reminder of her presence - she felt nice, an odd thing to feel about a firearm, but true nonetheless.

"How'd you get here, Lena?" asked her oldest friend.

"Flyer's right there, luv, don't you remember?" she joked.

"Lena..."

The teleporting pilot bit her lower lip, and thought. "You know the story. Thought I was playin' her. Turned out, I wasn't, I was playin' myself. Same for her."

"You raged for a month after she killed Mondatta."

"I know." She shifted the Kiss again, subconsciously.

"You're carrying the weapon that killed him."

"I know."

"And you're... fine with that?"

"It's... complicated." She pulled Widowmaker's rifle off her back, holding it gently, not putting it down. "It's... you weren't there, luv. You can't know. I screamed when I saw what she'd done. I howled. I could've just killed her, if I'd been able, and at the same time, I couldn't." She ran her hands along the firearm's bluish-grey casing. "It... it wasn't just me bein' angry, and it wasn't just me grieving... it was... I felt so... _betrayed_."

"Betrayed, that she did... exactly what we'd expect? Exactly what she came to do?"

"Yeh," she nodded, still looking at the rifle.

"That doesn't make any sense. Anger makes sense. Grief makes sense. How could you feel betrayed, unless..." and his eyes widened.

Lena took a big, deep breath. "Y'got there. Can't feel betrayed by somebody if y'don't care for 'em, and y'can't feel betrayed like that unless it's strong."

"Already? Then?"

Tracer just nodded.

"I... I had no idea. You barely even knew Amélie."

"Didn't know her at all, luv! Not even sure we ever met. I don't have that excuse."

"Then... how? _Why?_  "

"Dunno. It was always just her, just Widowmaker, since the first time we ever met, but some part of me knew. Just took the rest of me a while to figure it out, that's all."

"She still killed Mondatta."

"Yeh, she did. And she didn't feel a thing, yet - least, not much of anything, other than the kill. But while all that's true... she didn't kill me, when she could've. My accelerator was barely holding me in time, I couldn't've fought her - I was done. She could've finished me, or, worse, taken me back with her, to be... transformed, like she was."

"And she didn't," he said, understanding, at last.

"And she didn't. Even hid me from her extraction team. Took me a while to figure that out, but I got there eventually." Lena pulled the Kiss close to herself, held it tightly for just a moment, and slipped it carefully back over her shoulder. "And if we can reach each other... maybe she can reach Em." She shook her head. "Emily."

"You just don't give up on people, do you?"

Tracer grinned her famous half-grin, and fuzzled her best friend's hair. "Nope! Leastways, not if I can help it."

"Never change, Lena." He patted his best friend's back. "Never change."

"Don't worry." She skitched his head a little more. "I won't."


	6. I see what you see in her

"Even aside from her unique skills, she is quite pretty... and enthusiastic... I can see what you see in her." Oilliphéist smiled, gliding the tip of one blade along the unconscious Lena Oxton's neck.

Widowmaker could only glare, bound and gagged - not helpless, not for long, and her lover didn't pretend to think she was, but it would be a while, so the senior assassin glared, and glared hard, while working at her bonds, not even pretending not to.

"Oh, love, don't worry, I didn't lie to you - I really don't mind! In another world, another time, I could even see myself loving her, too... but... here, I'm afraid I don't." She looked up at her beloved, and grinned, broadly, an idea, "...at least, not as she is now. But we can bring her back with us!" she said, quickly. "It's not part of my mission, but I'm flexible, you know that - she could _join_ us. With just a few changes, a few improvements - she could become _one_ of us."

The ambush - Widowmaker didn't know how it was possible for anyone to be so fast. They'd met, at the pub, as planned, and she and Lena had it it off right away, surprising them both, surprising Widowmaker herself. Everything had felt so strangely... normal. It felt almost like being back on base, in the canteen, with Lena instead of Sombra, her sense of humour different, but not that different. Then, to Lena's apartment, for more explicit discussion, for discussions not meant for public spaces...

The gas that took down Lena, that, she understood. But the silent attack from behind - that mystified her, still. No whip of chain, none of the snap of Lena's teleporting, or hiss of Reaper's smoke - just _zip_ , and a knockout blow before she could even turn.

The silver-eyed assassin had tilted her head, looking at the Overwatch agent. She could see it, now, the copper-eyed girl, with hair so blue as almost black, skin the colour of the deepest sky on the warmest day, teleporting, dancing with time, herding some targets in, finishing ones that somehow fell out of their sights - nothing could escape her. Nothing would escape _them_.

She reached down with her right hand, still smiling, gently cupping the Briton's cheek with her hand. "I know my weapons. She would be ... truly magnificent."

"Y'know the trouble with you, mate?" Tracer's eyes snapped open. "You talk too much." The teleporter teleported, and was all at once on the far side of the room, pistols out.

"Oh!" replied the newer assassin. "Did I misjudge the dose?" She sheathed her knives and flipped her rifle around, again impossibly fast, pointing it at the bound Widowmaker. "That's fine, we can play it this way, too."

"No!" Tracer didn't lower her guns, but didn't fire, either. "Don't you even think it!" Widowmaker tried, as hard as she could, to signal - _She won't. Call her bluff. Call it. Please._ \- but that's so much to convey just with eyes and a nod.

"Oh, Lena, I don't want to, you know that! She's told you so much, I'm sure, and it's all true - it'd be like killing myself, and I _love_ myself, I don't want to kill _me_ , much less _her_. But I needed you to freeze, so I could talk to you, and she needs to come home, where she belongs. And she wants you so much, almost as much as she wants me, and... we can _do_ that! I wasn't lying either, I'm more than happy to share, and the three of us on the field, her at distance, me at midrange, you close-in and melee - we'd be _legendary_."

_I should just shoot her_ , the teleporter thought, _but... dammit, Wids, you have the worst taste in women... sorta... c'mon, Lena, dig..._ "Take her back to Talon, to have everything she's achieved wiped away? Doesn't sound like much of a deal to me. And what happened to our little truce?"

"Wiped...? No!" She laughed. "Of course not. No, no, no, I couldn't stand for that, either, not for a moment!" She leaned over and gently kissed Widowmaker's forehead, as she struggled at her bonds. "Never, love. You have done so much for me, how could I even imagine betraying you? Never think that."

_I believe you_ , the senior assassin realised, glancing up at her lover's eyes. _I... do_ , and her struggles ceased, just for a moment, before she went back to it. _But don't do this. Don't._

"As for the truce - I wanted to, I really did, but I have a _mission_. I can't... I can't _not_ complete it. She has to come home."

_Where the hell are you, cowboy?!_ Lena's eyes flicked to a small panel at the end of the hall. Purple. _The silent alarm tripped, just gotta stall her, keep her talking..._ "If we take her back, they'll recondition her again. You have to know it. You saw it, with Amélie. You _helped_."

"I know - and look at who we made!" she said, gesturing proudly. "Don't you understand? Do you really think I'd let them wipe her out, let them wrap her back up inside herself, undo the unfolding _I helped make happen?_  " The Irish dragon laughed. "Never."

Lena regarded the once-ginger assassin with confusion. _She still has freckles_ , she noticed, distractedly. "And how, exactly, d'ya plan to stop 'em?" She swallowed. "Look, Emily, this doesn't have to go this way. Neither of you have to go back to Talon. She's not the only one we could give sanctuary." 

Oilliphéist smirked, but even that was half a smile. _How can she be so... happy about this?_ thought the teleporter, as the living weapon said, "Ooooh, I see - we aren't going back to Talon, you silly girl. We're going back to Moira, where she'll do more wonderful things for all of us! Then - _only_ then - we'll take on Talon." The smirk in the smile vanished, her expression now pure and joyous. "And it'll be so much easier with a fourth weapon on our side..."

_This is a... recruitment pitch?_ Tracer shook her head, just a little. "You're... trying to sell me on the idea that you're trying to take down Talon, and... you want my help?"

"Take down? No, no. Take _over_. Different."

"Why should I take sides in some bloody Talon civil war?"

"Because Akande wants to start a second Omnic crisis to 'test' humanity, and Moira thinks that's a stupid waste of resources. And also," she said, as Tracer felt the sting on the back of her neck, "because she's already here." Lena, sadly, didn't hear that last part, but it didn't matter, not really.

Widowmaker shrieked around her gag, eyes filled with pure, unfiltered rage, as Moira O'Deorain stepped through the balcony doorway, a small Oasis flyer hovering just outside. "I'm sorry I'm late, dear - I ran into an old friend from Blackwatch on the way over." She answered Widowmaker's look of anguish with a wry glance of her own. "He was never half as subtle as he liked to think, but he'll be awake again in a few hours. Call it... professional courtesy." She looked back to her niece. "We should hurry, though - Winston will be here very soon." Another dart, and Widowmaker's thoughts fell away.

Oilliphéist frowned, saying, "No. Do nothing to her. We agreed," and Moira waved her hands dismissively. "It's just a tranquilliser to make her easier to transport, nothing psychoactive."

She walked over to the unconscious teleporter, kneeled down to look her over, and after a moment, smiled widely up to her newest creation. "You're quite right, though," she said, pleased. "The risk was worth it. This one... she will make a most magnificent weapon."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm several chapters ahead of what's posted, and that's really starting to bother me? So I'm going to be posting a little more often for a bit - maybe every four or five days instead of weekly. Not sure yet. We'll see. ^_^


	7. they are beautiful, but they are new

Lena Oxton bolted upright in her bed, leapt vertically, and jinked across the room. _Where am I?!_ She grabbed at her chest, missing the weight of her accelerator, pawing at herself, terrified until she slowly realised that she wasn't slipping out of time - she'd teleported, without even thinking.

Looking over next to a closed door, she saw her accelerator - or a smaller, thinner version - resting on a charging station not unlike her own. _What the bleedin' hell...? How'd I do that? Is this a Slipstream world?_

Looking down, she realised she was in front of a window, dozens of stories above the ground, and standing on a dresser. She stomped at the piece of furniture - quite solid, quite real. Looking back at the bed from which she'd leapt, she realised, suddenly, _Widowmaker?!_ as the assassin sat up, blinking, looking over to Lena, confused, then remembering, looking around, afraid... and then, less so, as she saw the Kiss, unloaded, but quite intact, by the nightstand next to their bed. She grabbed her, reassured herself with her presence, and placed her back down, nearby.

"Looks like we've got first class accommodations," Lena said, quietly. "And they were kind enough to keep your counterpart close. Thanks, invisible room monitor." She walked quickly over to Widowmaker, leaning her head against her lover's, whispering, "Do you remember anything after my apartment? I don't." "No," the defector replied, just as quietly. "But clearly, time has passed. Your eyes are..." she looked closely, to be sure, "...copper. They are beautiful, but they are new."

Lena paled as the room's door opened, and Oilliphéist came rushing in. "You're awake! Finally!" She wrapped herself around her lover, who found it took everything in her to push her back away. "You _lied_ to me!" Widowmaker shouted.

"No! Yes! A little!" replied Oilliphéist, standing off, giving her counterpart her space. "It was horrible, and I hated it - I didn't want to, but I had to get you home! But that's the only thing I lied about, and Moira's agreed I'll never have to do it again."

"What's she done to us?" demanded Tracer.

"Nothing! Well, nothing much. Why, do you think I should?" interjected Dr. O'Deorain, as she stepped into the room, following Emily by some seconds.

"You call this nothing?!" Lena pointed at her eyes and snarled at the infamous doctor, a spike of instant loathing for her running across her body.

The doctor laughed. "Nothing _psychological_. Yes, I... fixed a few things for you, while you were here. I was, after all, an Overwatch medical officer, and you are a member of Overwatch, and I am, still, a doctor. You'll like it, once you know. Here, see?"

She reached over, and turned off Lena's chronal accelerator. Lena shrieked, and failed to teleport, but did back quite quickly into the wall behind her, which remained as substantial as ever.

"I thought you might appreciate a little insurance against incidents like the one in Numbani last year."

Lena reached around her, touching the wall, the bed, the wardrobe - all still entirely solid. "...how?"

"The anchor core was separable, and easily powered. It's part of you, now."

"...you implanted it?" She didn't trust it, or any part of it. _Get it out, get it out, get it **out**..._

"It runs off your own glucose - a far better solution, I think you'll agree, than before. You'll need to eat more, but not too unreasonably more, and you'll still need the vest for teleporting and time jumps. But you no longer need to be wearing it for that, and you'll get more jumps per charge."

"Yeh - I'll believe that when Winston verifies it, and not before. How'd you make room... inside me?" She shuddered at the thought.

"Easily enough done. Your lungs are slightly smaller, but vastly more efficient; you've come out ahead, I assure you. But let's skip the Q-and-A, shall we?"

She held up a hand, and started counting on long, long fingernails. "Thanks to all the head trauma you've suffered, your retinas were going to disintegrate well before you turned 40. Now, they won't." A second finger. "While I was in there, I got rid of your blind spots. Also," a third finger, "you'll see better in both darkness and extreme light." A fourth; "And, I have this wonderful new technique for improving nerve conductivity, so I threw that in as a bonus. You're even quicker, now, and more dextrous." She flipped her hands open, palms up, and took a little bow. "You're welcome."

Lena just stared at the doctor, the fear in her mind rising as the list grew. "Bleedin'... anything else?"

"Welcome to Oasis?"

The Overwatch agent glared in silence, trying not to shake.

Through all of this, Widowmaker had been inventorying her mind. She didn't feel reconstrained, but she knew from previous conditioning that she never did - she always felt like herself. She looked over to Oilliphéist, who still looked so beautiful, so perfect, and to Tracer, who still looked so perfectly annoying, so perfectly foolish, and yet, so perfectly... wonderful. _If nothing else, she has let me keep this_ , she thought.

"And me, docteur?"

Dr. O'Deorain gave her an exasperated look. "My niece would barely let me touch you. You can't ghost, like she can, which is a bit of a shame. But she did at least allow me the nerve conductivity - you're now her equal in speed, though neither of you can keep up with your diminutive... friend... here."

 _I'll never trust my quickness again_ , thought Tracer, enraged. _Fuck. Fuck you, doc. Fuck you._

Emily walked back over to Widowmaker, and knelt beside her on the floor, by the bed. "I'm really sorry she made me lie to you. But she swore she wouldn't touch you, not the real you, not your mind, not ever again, and I've stayed awake the whole time, making sure." She reached up, offering her hand. "Forgive me?"

Widowmaker hesitated, then took Oilliphéist's hand, and nodded, once. "Oh, god, I've missed you," the newer creation repeated. "It's so good that you're home." And Widowmaker smiled, relaxing, resting her head against Emily's and running her hands through her beloved's hair. "It's... so lovely to be with you again," she whispered. _I wish we could do an associations check_ , she thought, _but that is not a tool we should reveal here..._

"How long we been out, luv?" Lena asked Emily, kindly, a little touched at the scene, despite herself.

"A little over a week," the once ginger replied, sleepily. "I've been watching over you both, worrying, night and day. I really need a nap."

"Why don't you take one, dear," said the doctor. "I owe our guests an explanation, and I do have a proposal to make."

Emily crawled into bed next to Widowmaker and held her, so tightly, and this time, Widowmaker didn't push her away, and didn't even want to. _She smells so nice_ , she thought, sliding aside and off the bed as Emily curled up to sleep. _And she feels so wonderful. But then... she always did._

"I imagine you're both hungry. Lunch?"

"No," said Tracer, as her stomach growled. "Well... maybe."

\-----

"So you're sayin' that part's true? Akande really wants to start another Omnic War?"

They were both back in their "guest room," Oilliphéist still asleep, the two of them at a small round table with four chairs, surrounded by windows overlooking the city. Tracer had turned her accelerator back on at first opportunity, not taking any chances.

Widowmaker nodded. "He has - or, at least, a few weeks ago, had - every intent of doing exactly that. All my most recent orders had involved helping him consolidate his power - I made a particularly lovely shot to kill a rather... more pedestrian... member of council, interested only in money, and not politics. A common criminal, risen far above his level, but at least he died beautifully."

"Killing Mondatta was part of the war effort, wasn't he." It wasn't a question, and Widowmaker did not treat it as one.

"Yes, absolutely."

Lena snarled, but considered the repercussions. "Seems t'me this kind of infighting must really weaken Talon. It happen often?"

The assassin smirked, wryly. "How do you think Akande went to jail?"

The door to the guest room opened again, and Moira appeared, with afternoon tea. Lena glared at the minister, who smiled in return. "Checking on my information? Good - that's only the proper thing to do. Tea?"

"No. Well... what kind?"

"A nice tippy assam, I find it good in hot weather. I'll go ahead and be mother, it seems only fitting," said the doctor, as she sat down and began pouring cups for the table. "And yes," she tilted her head just a little to Lena, "we'll share the same pot. We can even swap cups if you'd like."

"I insist," said Lena, after the cups had been poured.

Moira waved at the tea set, and smiled a tiny smile. "At your pleasure."

"You did it," Widowmaker said to Moira, as Lena swapped cups around. "She's... wondrous."

Dr. O'Deorain smiled the least-ungenuine smile Tracer had yet seen her manage. "She is. I always backed her petitions for enhancement. I have no idea why the rest of the board was so hesitant." She added just a hint of sugar to her tea, and took a careful sip.

"What else did you do to her?" demanded the senior assassin.

"Other than the obvious?" she laughed. "Very little. There were reasons she was the template, after all." She looked over to her niece, still asleep in bed. "She is more mission-focused, now. If it makes you feel better about what happened, I'm certain that's the only reason she was able to lie to you about the meeting. She even fought me on it. Honestly, I was surprised."

"She wasn't always floatin' about in a little cloud of euphoria, was she?" Lena asked. "Doesn't seem your type, love."

"No. That is also new," replied the Frenchwoman.

"And not my doing. I gave her everything she wanted, everything she'd ever dreamed, and it all actually worked just like she'd always hoped. What did you expect, depression?" Tracer glared, but Widowmaker laughed, just a little. "But... as you have demonstrated, the mind has a way of rebalancing itself to a kind of neutrality over time, and I've enabled her to avoid that fate, if she chooses. You can hardly blame me for wanting to see my niece be happy, can you?"

"Mate, I could blame you for saving an orphan from a runaway lorry."

The doctor laughed. "I can't blame you for that, right now. But I do hope that over time you'll forgive me this little incident. I couldn't exactly ring you up for a teleconference, could I? Not with what you know."

The minister put her tea back down, and leaned forward. "Look, I'll be direct. Akande is a danger to the entire world, and needs to be stopped. I do not have the political power within Talon to do it, which means it is time for a short, vicious, but small war, to prevent a long, disastrous, and genocidal war. I intended to go into it with myself and my two most brilliant creations, but I would prefer to go into it with you on my side, as well, and with Overwatch specifically deciding to keep its distance. If we lose - no loss for you and yours, it's all on us, and no "heroes" are implicated. But if we win... everyone wins."

"I don't believe you, mate," glared the teleporter, putting sugar and milk into her tea. "Somethin' else is goin' on."

"Something else is always going on," the doctor agreed, picking up her teacup. "Akande is shorting my budget within Talon, and it is affecting my work. Nothing matters more than that - nothing - and I will not stand for it. Renewed Omnic incursions would absolutely target this city, and, therefore, my facilities and experiments, and I will not have that, either. The chaos would set my research back years." She sipped her tea. "There. Is that selfish enough for you? I do not pretend to be otherwise."

"What's this 'small war' involve?" She almost growled the question. _Bloody hell, you irritate me_ , she thought. _No wonder Ziegler doesn't like you._

"Widowmaker will be familiar with kind of actions needed - distance assassinations, close-up killings, some theft, some intelligence gathering for blackmail, all the nasty covert games Overwatch pretends to hate, but did so very much of the first time around." She placed her cup back in its saucer, and added a little more tea. "This time, Overwatch wouldn't have to be involved, not directly. But you... you'd make a lovely addition to our little task force, and with your personal involvement with my two favourites, you can see why I had to ask."

"I'm not agreein' to anything," Lena said. "Not here, not like this." She sipped from her teacup, and looked down at it. _Huh. A bit light for my tastes, but... not bad._

"You're free to leave, you do realise that?" asked the minister.

"Am I? Really?"

"Yes."

"Then where're my pistols?"

"Did you check the dresser?"

"...you serious?"

"Absolutely," the doctor said, adding just a little more tea to her cup.

As Lena arose to check the dresser - where her guns and wrist braces had been neatly put away in the top drawer - Emily stirred, muttering, "...pistols?" She sat up, blinking. "Pistols? Oh! Yes! Pistols! Lena, I have presents for you!"

"...wot?" replied the teleporter. "You..."

"Your old pistols are _terrible!_  " She smiled, and shook her head ruefully. "Awful balance, erratic kick - how did you ever hit _anything?_  " The armourer yawned, broadly, and stretched.

"Emily, you should get some more sleep. You've been up for days."

"I know, but..."

"You can give her your presents in the morning, dear. That's an order."

Emily muttered, and rolled back over, wrapping her arms around her pillow. "Fine..." she said, and closed her eyes.

Lena had snapped on her wrist holsters, and popped her pistols free, spinning them in her hands. _Loaded,_ she thought, more than a little surprised. She pointed them straight at Moira's face. "So I can leave whenever I want, then?"

"Yes. But I wouldn't recommend shooting me first. Assassination of a government minister is frowned upon, here in Oasis."

Tracer flipped back her pistols. "Leave... alone, abandoning Wids here to be monkeywrenched? Not hardly, mate."

"You too," she said, turning to the former Talon assassin, waving her right hand airily. "At any time."

"And Emily?" asked the assassin.

"She should stay, at least a few more days - I'm not sure you remember this, Widowmaker, but the first months after your upgrades, you required extensive adjustments and maintenance, so that..."

"I remember," said the senior assassin, abruptly. "It was... extraordinarily painful."

"I learned a great deal from creating you," said the doctor. "It will not be so, for her. And less will be required." She sighed. "I'd've done it already, except she refused to sleep."

"Then," Widowmaker said, "we will have to wait, until that is finished. And I will watch you, every single moment, while you work on her, and if you do anything - _anything_ \- to her mind..."

"Bullets?" offered the doctor. "I know she's empty," she said, gesturing to Widowmaker's rifle. "Here." She reached into her jacket and pulled out a standard set of sniper rounds. "Just stay out of my way, while I work. You know how much I hate interference."

Widowmaker nodded, and took the rounds, inspected them, validating them as real, and loaded the Kiss. "Lena?"

"I don't like it, but - I'm not leaving without you, and I'm not gonna ask you to abandon her."

The assassin reached out, squeezing the teleporter's hand tightly. "Thank you."

"I take it, then," said the Irish doctor, "we're all in agreement?"

Lena nodded briefly, and the Widowmaker echoed her, a moment later, more slowly.

"We are agreed."


	8. she's always been there for me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [cw: This chapter contains material some readers may find disturbing.]

"Morning, sweet." Emily whispered, opening her eyes, looking up at her counterpart, awake, as she'd been all night, sitting up between her two lovers. "How're you doing?"

Widowmaker leaned down - carefully, so not to disturb Tracer - and kissed her lover's forehead, whispering back. "I'm fine. It's only a few days - I've held shot positions far longer. How are _you_ doing?"

"My joints ache a bit," she said. "Particularly my knees."

"If it's only a bit," Widowmaker replied, running her free hand through her lover's hair, "she _has_ improved the process."

"I know," Emily smiled, and nuzzled into Widowmaker's hand. "Oh, that's wonderful. I've missed this. Never go away again."

"I can't promise. I want to, but - we cannot stay here, you know that."

"When all this is over, then?"

Widowmaker nodded. "We will find a way. We... can't not. You and I both know that."

"I know." Emily smiled broadly. "It's what makes being apart bearable." She laid her head on her lover's breast, looking across at her lover's lover, and blinked. "...Oh!" She jumped, suddenly remembering. "Lena! Lena Lena Lena!" She hopped over, all smiles, as Oxton grumbled herself awake. "...Emily?"

"I have presents! I was too sick yesterday from the treatments, but - I feel better, now! Get up, I can't wait to show you."

"Emily, it's..." Tracer looked at the clock, confused. "It's 5:30. Why 5:30? Why."

"C'mon, girlfriend-in-law, get up, you've been asleep for days!"

Lena supposed that was true, thinking about it, and really, she wasn't even that sleepy. "Might as well, now, I'm all awake." She squinted and ran her hands through her hair, trying to make some sense of it, and failing. "She always this much a morning person, love?"

Widowmaker smirked. "We've only had a few nights where we actually were able to _sleep_ together. So to be honest - I cannot be sure. But I am usually awake a couple of hours before you are, so... perhaps I am, as well."

"You're nice enough to stay still 'till I wake up."

"Perhaps I like the view."

"Aw."

"Come _on_ ," said Emily, pulling on Lena's arm. "Get dressed. You're gonna _love_ these."

\-----

Oilliphéist smiled at Tracer, looking up from the tiny adjustments she was making to her new pistols. "I'm sorry we don't have more than a target range," she gestured down the long, long room with the single target at the far end. It had a single hole, enlarged by multiple shots through it. "I'd love to see you give them a proper workout."

"I would too, t'be honest. S'far as that goes, I'd like a proper workout myself. Treadmills only take y'so far. And you've only got the one." 

The armourer nodded. "Real estate, I probably don't have to tell you, it's pretty dear in Oasis. But I'm so glad you like these - I'd thought you would."

The teleporter grinned a little, despite herself. "Faster shot rate, higher shot count per cycle, slightly quicker reload, I think - what's not to love?" She shook her head. "But mostly - you were right. I don't know how I never noticed how bad the recoil and scatter were, in my old set. These are brilliant."

The gunsmith, pleased her presents were appreciated, bounced a little in her chair. "Well, it's what you're used to, isn't it? What y'learn on is what y'learn on, and y'don't know better 'till you get better, I think. Are the grips comfortable?"

"Ah, yeah. A lot like my old guns, really."

"Quite similar, in fact. I made a hand impression while you were unconscious, so I could customise it a bit - but that and the reload time were the best things about your old pistols, so why fix what's not broken?"

"And you made the Kiss, too, then?"

"I did! As well as my own counterpart. I call her the Dragon's Breath, now that I'm finally named." She felt a little frisson of pleasure at the thought. "But I always used her as a testbed for improvements. One's me, one's Widowmaker, but they're much the same. As we are much the same." She smiled again, feeling warm inside.

"There's... something about her," the pilot said. "I felt it, carrying her for Wids, when we were at Overwatch."

"She... let you carry the Kiss?" she asked, putting down her tools.

"Yeah, it was a..."

Oilliphéist stood, astonished, and took Lena's hands in her own, examining them, feeling them, smelling them. "Did you know? How... how did she make you feel?"

"Ah...," she said, surprised, a little alarmed, a little confused. "I... suspected. She reminded me of _her_ , somehow. She was... comforting, almost."

"You could feel that... oh, you could, you could feel that..." A relaxed smile, deep, genuine, real. "She _does_ love you, to trust you so much. And her counterpart knows, and shared it with you..."

"You're sayin'... the Kiss... feels?"

Emily giggled. "Does a submarine swim? She's... she's a reflection. She reflects what Widowmaker feels, as does my Breath reflects me. A security blanket, a brace, a reinforcement, and... just a little more."

"A... part of her conditioning, then?" Oxton said, more than a little alarmed. "Is this how you... and did I..."

"No! Oh, no, I see how you get there, luv, but no - exactly the opposite. She..." She waved her hands. "She helps her counterpart keep her own self. I didn't add that until I saw who we'd made, and knew... I had to help her unlock herself fully."

The assassin laughed, and sat back down to complete the adjustments. "All of which makes it sound far more powerful than it is. Really, she's the tiniest bit of emotional support, working through the outer nervous system, and that's all. Like... a little pat on the head. But she _is_ that much, and _always_ there, and... it helps." She looked over at the Overwatch agent. "It pleases me that you could feel it, already, before."

"So is the Breath what keeps you so happy? That was quite the performance y'gave at Widowmaker's chateau."

"Oh!" Her eyes lit up. "You saw it? Thank you!"

"Ever since then, I've been thinking about how... cheery you are, all th' time, even - particularly - then. Has killing always made you so... estatic?"

She laughed. "No. I..." She looked at the tool in her hand, decided it was the wrong tool, and picked another, very similar tool. "No. I love it, I love it all, the challenge, the hunt, the stakes, the victories, the kills, the blood... but... do you really think that's all it is?"

"I did. So is it also... your weapon?"

"No. Not at all. It's _her_."

"Widowmaker?"

"Yes." She closed her eyes for just a moment, and took in a long, deep, slow breath. "The first time I saw her, I ... connected with her, in a way I never, ever imagined could happen, and it... it just shook me. She was a wonderment, and..." She shook her head. "I wish I had better words for it."

"So 'till then, you'd always been..."

"A murderous psychopath?"

"That's a pretty rough way to put it, but... yeah."

Oilliphéist shrugged, never losing her smile, not completely. "It's fine, I know what I am. Fortunately, I've also always been an engineer! And had the intelligence to know what _not_ to do." She smiled, wanly. "Well, that's not entirely the truth. I was one of those kids who couldn't stop taking things apart, see how they worked."

"Really?"

"Oh yes. I was a little terror. I could put things back together too! But only about half the time."

The agent looked incredulously at the armourer. "'Sorry, mum, the milk's gone bad, I took apart the icebox?'"

Emily laughed. "How did you know? Did Widowmaker tell you?"

Lena blinked. "...really?"

"Yes," she chuckled. "I actually did take apart the icebox. Couldn't put it back together, either. Bits strewn about the kitchen, ice cream melting everywhere, if there was a works to be had, I'd put a spanner in it." She made a few final adjustments, and nodded, pleased, popping the screwdriver back into its case. "I learned, though. I _did_ put the microwave back together. And the computer. But not the icebox, not the hoover, and not the cat." Her smile broke, and looked suddenly sad, as Tracer laughed, at first, thinking she was joking, and then did not laugh, as she realised she was not.

"Wait... you... really took apart... a real cat? That's awful! Why would you...?" _Psychopath_ , she remembered. _Sometimes as children, they... torture animals._ "Did you... want to make it hurt?"

The Irish Dragon shook her head, and looked more than a little lost. "No! I liked her! I liked the cat! I liked her so much I wanted to see how she worked, that's all, so I sedated her, like I'd seen Aunt Moira do, and... took her apart, and she was so beautiful inside... but then none of the pieces would go back together, or in, or anything, and..."

Emily scrunched up her eyes, confusion in her face, and shook her head again, trembling. "I... I was _so angry_. I was so angry that I couldn't make her work again. And everybody else was angry, too, and crying, and I didn't know why, they weren't the ones who couldn't put her together... and I said, we could get another one, but they said it wasn't the same, why..." And she stopped, and shuddered, and covered her mouth with her hands. "...we couldn't get another _that_ one, could we."

Lena just sat, torn, appalled, and confused, and sad, and had no idea what to say.

"...I get it, now." She looked at Lena. " _That_ cat was broken. We couldn't get _that_ cat again. She was... gone." Her gaze dropped to her hands, in her lap. "I... I... why didn't I ever understand that, before?"

"...how old were you, then?"

"Nine, I think?" She blinked, furiously, and rubbed her eyes with the heels of her hands, a little. "I haven't thought about this in years, why... why now...?"

"I dunno. I... wow," managed Lena, in well over her head. "Hoo, that's... not to be a bit too on the nose, but I hope you don't ever decide to see how _I_ work."

Emily looked at her palms, confused, and rubbed them against her trousers. "I..."

"Are you...?"

Emily huffed, raising a pistol and pointing it at Tracer's face. "Bang!" She giggled, weakly, and put it back down. "I'm not nine years old anymore." She sniffled, surprised by the sound. "I may be pretty well broken, but I'm not stupid. I won't kill you."

"But y'could," said Tracer, with certainty.

Emily shook her head yet again. "Sure! But I wouldn't. Not ever." _She doesn't understand_ , she thought. " _She_ loves you. Killing you would hurt her, and I would never hurt her." She ran her hands through her hair, looking a little more like herself. "I couldn't hurt her. Ever."

"Not even for a mission?"

"Fortunately," she swallowed, as her smile returned, "I'll never have to worry about that." Primly, soothed again, she settled herself, and put away the rest of her tools. "Moira's promised, and I believe her."

"Do you?"

"I do. She's always been there for me."

"Really?"

She let out a long, slow, calm breath. "Always. Oh, and speak of the devil..."

Moira walked in, Widowmaker behind her, wary in the eye, rifle out, but carried lightly. "Hello, dear. Are you finished with the pistols? It's time for your last round of treatments."

"How 'bout it, Lena?" She handed the pistols over. "That better?"

Tracer flipped the pistols in her hands. So light. "Still feels good. New target?"

Emily popped over to the controls. A replacement appeared, and Tracer emptied one pistol into it, creating a single, smaller hole than before, and then emptied the other, enlarging that hole just a bit. "Ah, that's ace, luv. Absolutely bloody bespoke, that is."

"Thanks!" The armourer grinned broadly, before turning to her aunt. "I'm ready."

"Then since we all have quite a lot of work to do, let's get this, at least, done."

Widowmaker nodded. "Lead on."


	9. the safest way

Lena strapped herself into the pilot's chair and hit the fastest takeoff sequence she'd ever hit, jetting away from Oasis airspace at the best speed her flyer could manage. She checked tracking on Oilliphéist's flyer, headed towards Vienna, and found it still en route, as promised.

Next to her, Widowmaker sat, contemplative, calculating silently for several minutes. Finally, she turned to Lena and said, "I agree. It is the safest way."

Lena reached over and touched her hand, gently, then took it in her own. "I know this is a lot to ask. I know what it means. Thank you."

She pulled up Overwatch comms, and gave her lover another worried glance. "They sure aren't going to expect _this_..." She hit transmit, and thumbed the manual microphone switch. "Overwatch, Overwatch, this is Tracer Delta Echo Four Five, declaring emergency, do you read? Overwatch, this is Tracer Delta Echo Four Five, declaring emergency, do you read?"

Nothing. She repeated the call. Nothing again, until, "Tracer Delta Echo Four Five, this is Winston, Lena - is that you? Really you?"

Lena took a relieved breath. "At least he's answering." She hit comms again. "Winston, this is Tracer Delta Echo Four Five, we are declaring emergency. We are outbound from Oasis at best speed with good fuel supply. We have just got away from Moira O'Deorain and we need..." She swallowed. "We need destination and arrival protocol for any facility capable of immediate force quarantine on touchdown. Something that could hold me... and Widowmaker both."

"Understood. Do not approach Gibraltar under any circumstances. Please confirm - do not approach Gibraltar. We _will_ fire. Can you provide a locator beacon?"

"Locator beacon active. Do not approach Gibraltar... confirmed and understood."

There was a long wait, and they were almost to Greek airspace when they finally got another response. "Tracer Delta Echo Four Five, this is Winston. Prepare to receive destination and approach information."

"Winston, Tracer Delta Echo Four Five ready."

The data streamed in. She looked at it twice, and then again. "Overwatch from Tracer... Winston... this takes us back to Oasis."

"Tracer Delta Echo Four Five, that destination is correct."

"But..."

"Tracer Delta Echo Four Five, this is Mercy. I have special facilities at Oasis."

"But... _Moira!_ "

"You may not like to hear this, but... she was with Overwatch, once. We have an agreement. She stays on her part of town; I stay on mine."

Lena didn't like it - but the channel was valid, and the encryption was solid, and she swallowed, and accepted it. "Overwatch, Tracer Delta Echo Four Five acknowledged. Setting course and flight plan."

"Thank you," replied the doctor. "Now - tell me everything you know about the last two weeks."

\-----

_[day one]_

Tracer and Widowmaker stepped out of their flyer, both with hands behind their heads, fingers interlaced, the unloaded Kiss on Lena's back, Lena's accelerator turned off, Lena's new pistols - and her old ones - in plain view, leaning on the wall next to the hatch behind them.

"Are you unarmed?" they heard, from behind the bright lights greeting them. Lena couldn't help but smirk a little, as she discovered Moira hadn't lied about her new vision - she could see everything, bright and dark, even if it was a bit low-contrast.

"We're unarmed, as agreed," she replied, looking directly at Dr. Ziegler. She leaned a little to her lover, and asked, quietly, "You always seen the world like this?"

"I imagine so, yes," Widowmaker replied, just as quietly. "Despite everything, it is... pleasant that we now share the view."

"Please stop talking, and walk forward single-file, Tracer ahead of Widowmaker. You will be sedated but will not be harmed. Do not resist, or we will open fire."

Winston watched the two women walk forward from behind the shields, catching the copper glint of Tracer's eyes in the spotlights' glare.

 _I failed you, Lena_ , he thought, shuddering. _I guess the only question is... whether anyone in there will let me beg your forgiveness._

\-----

_[day two]_

"Physically, we're focusing mostly on the brain and nervous system changes, of course. Both of their nervous systems have been extensively reworked - my staff and I think that would've required that week they're missing."

"And... psychologically?" Winston asked, trying to keep himself as clinical as possible, and only partially succeeding.

"Tracer" - Angela wouldn't call her 'Lena,' not yet - "has been taking a series of psychological profile tests and memory examinations. So far, she's giving the same results she gave before. But these would also be the easiest to fake."

"And Widowmaker?"

"We know far less. Obviously, she doesn't score similarly to Amélie at all, and biologically, she's ... _not_ human. But we have the scans I took when we granted her sanctuary, and those are fairly detailed. We're seeing changes, but so far, nothing out of line with what they both described."

"Well, that's good, at least."

The doctor shook her head. "It's expected. No, if they've done anything not obvious, we'll have to dig for it. Probably quite deeply."

\-----

_[day three]_

Widowmaker - very much not Danielle, not here - nodded. "So, physically, I seem to be largely the same as I was two weeks ago?"

"Yes," concurred the doctor, through 20cm of transparent barrier. "Other than the nervous system changes. Are you noticing any differences I have not yet found?"

The assassin smirked, and reached over for a pair of dice from one of the board games they'd been allowed in their room - _at least,_ she thought, _they're letting us be together_ \- and rolled the numbers two through 12, then 12 through two, then odd numbers, then even, all in rapid sequence. "I could already do this, before, but it's much easier, and more reliable. They'll never allow me at the craps tables in Monaco again."

\-----

_[day four]_

Tracer looked at the doctor and her friend Winston through copper eyes. "So I'm not bugged?"

"Or in any danger of vanishing," Winston replied. "I'm still studying what she did, both to you and to the accelerator vest, but on the whole, it's still all my work, just componentised." _Keep it clinical_ , he reminded himself. _Nothing... personal. Not yet._ "I'd even thought of moving the core like she did, after Numbani, but I'm not certified for medical devices."

"Much of it is surprisingly conservative, for her," added Dr. Ziegler. "The lung function improvements are meaningful, but known technology, already applied to people with damaged brachial systems - the only advancement is that it's now part of your genetics, and will grow back if damaged. The eye work..."

"What she said about my retinas, was that true?"

Angela snorted. "Not entirely untrue - statistically, with your history, there is a ten percent chance of what she described. But I could repair it, outpatient, in under an hour - and grow you an entirely new retina in a day. It was an excuse."

Tracer nodded. "I could see everything, at landing. Even in the bright lights. I could see the lenses in the lamps, and I could see you, and the guards, in shadow... so... there's that, at least."

"That work is largely her own. But it's much the same as Widowmaker's - and you aren't 'bugged' there, either."

"Well, that's a start."

"As for the nerve conductivity... we're still studying that. Can you do Widowmaker's dice trick?"

The pilot smirked, picked up a bunch of dice from one of the games, and threw them into the air in front of her. She bounced them around on her fingertips for a couple of seconds, fingers moving at blinding speed, keeping them all airborne, until she let them land.

16 dice from a Boggle set landed in a line, spelling TRACER OWNS THE SKY.

"Luv," said the former test pilot, "You have no idea."

\-----

_[day five]_

Lena and Widowmaker looked up from their dinner at a soft knocking at the clear glass wall.

"I thought they were finished with us for the day," said the sniper.

"So'd I," replied Tracer, nervously.

"Relax - it's just me," said a familiar voice - Winston's - over the speaker. "I'm not really supposed to be here, but I'm not really _not_ supposed to be here, either, so..."

"Hey, big guy," Lena said, turning to the window, surprised when the room behind it lit up fully. "What's up?"

"I couldn't..." Winston looked at Lena's copper eyes, and managed not to flinch. _I'll never get used to that,_ he thought. "I couldn't go another day like we have been," said the scientist. "I had to talk. Just... talk."

Widowmaker raised an eyebrow. "I would offer privacy, but obviously, I cannot."

"No... Am... Widowmaker, you're included. I failed you too, after all. McCree and I both. We were your backup, and we weren't there when we needed to be... in your case, twice."

"No," said Widowmaker. "Only once, for myself. Once also, I suppose, for Amélie, but - that was her."

The gorilla nodded. "Either way - an apology won't cut it, it's not good enough. I reached the apartment ... not even a minute too late. Maybe not even 45 seconds. But still too late."

"Wouldn't've helped," said the teleporter, "if you'd got there sooner. The video from Guillard wasn't even half of it. She and Moira would've taken you down in a second flat."

"Maybe, or, maybe not," he insisted. "I'm pretty hard to knock out - all this hair has some real advantages. A neck dart wouldn't even reach my skin."

"In which case, Oilliphéist may well have killed you," said the assassin. "She's fully capable, and was on mission - with her current conditioning, that would've overruled everything else."

He frowned. "She could _try_." 

"Don't underestimate her, luv," said the teleporter. "We did, and, well, here we are."

Winston's head fell, and he chuffed, quietly. "I saw the flyer leaving - not clearly enough to get a registration number, but I knew you both had to be on it." He closed his eyes. "I tried to pursue, but..."

"Diplomatic vehicle?" asked the assassin.

"Yes."

"Figures," nodded the teleporter. "Given where we ended up."

"There's so much I'm not supposed to say... so much I wish I could say. But I can't. Not 'till Angela's team is done with you. But I can say I'm sorry."

Lena walked over to the window, and put her hand against the glass. "I know, big guy. It's not your fault - we all underestimated them both. But... thanks."

Winston put is hand up opposite Lena's, and said nothing.

"So... how's Jesse? Wids told me Moira left him alive."

"Or so she said, before I was sedated."

Winston did not grimace, or frown, but also did not smile. "Can't talk about that, yet. Sorry. I don't know why, but it's off limits."

"Well, for what it's worth, I have t'tell ya, from my end... I feel same as I ever was."

"As do I. I choose to think Emily's protection had weight. She certainly thought it did."

"I am desperately hoping all three of you are right."

"So'm I, luv," Lena murmured. "So'm I."

\-----

_[day seven]_

"This is actually the eighth time we've let you out," the doctor said, breezily.

"Wot?" said Lena, confused. "I don't remember..."

"You wouldn't. I've been keeping you from making long-term memories. I'm sorry, but... we had to see how you'd react to a variety of scenarios. Just because I couldn't detect anything..."

Lena nodded, glancing over at Widowmaker, who was just putting on her boots.

"This time's for real, though. We've got a welcome-back dinner..." she looked at the woman who had been made from Amélie Lacroix, "...and in your case, a welcome dinner. You've helped bring Lena back to us, and we are grateful."

The blue assassin smirked, and then, relaxed just a little, and almost smiled. "I... admit I am surprised. But thank you."

The three women made their way outside the cell, and down the hallway, towards the dining hall. Angela's personal research institute wasn't an Overwatch facility - not technically - but it had a lot in common with one.

"Lena!" Winston bounded over to the small woman as she lead the way into the mess hall. "I'm so glad you're finally out. We've been so worried."

She hugged the big gorilla and fuzzled his hair. "Oh, us too, luv. When we found out we'd been out of it for over a week... hoo."

"I've gone over and over what she's done to your accelerator - particularly the distance-teleport functionality. It's not a bad solution, I have to admit. I could build a variant of it into our drop ships. As an area effect with main drive power behind it, you could teleport at will, as long as you stayed in range." He scratched his ear. "I wish I could've done it myself. But trying to rebuild the core into a medical-safe housing - well, like I said. It's not my area of expertise."

Lena grinned and noogied her friend, and looked around the table. _Wow, **everyone** turned up!_ She ran from person to person, as Widowmaker stood in the background, a little afraid to come forward until Lena made her. "I can't believe you've all made it all the way out here - Ana, you too?"

"We're not so far from Egypt, and it was worth the trip," said the older sniper. "Hello again, Widowmaker. Or may I call you Danielle? Your codename has... unpleasant associations, for me."

"I am well used to it, so..." she shrugged. "If it makes you feel better, then I do not mind."

Halfway through dinner, Widowmaker realised she couldn't remember what she'd had to drink. She looked over at Tracer, externally calm, and asked, "...do you remember the first course?"

Lena blinked, and looked down at her food. What _had_ she eaten? _Wait. How'd we get here from containment? What..._ She blinked, scared, and looked around.

Dr. Ziegler sighed. "Ah, you've noticed. I'm sorry, Lena. I lied. This is the eighth scenario. You won't remember it either, but if it helps, it was the last. The next time will be for real."

\-----

_[day 11]_

Over dessert, Tracer realised she couldn't remember what she'd had as a main course. She looked over at Widowmaker, suddenly afraid. "...do you remember the entree?"

Widowmaker blinked, and looked down at her wine. What _had_ she eaten? And what is this wine? "...how... how did we get here from our cell?"

Dr. Ziegler nodded. "It took longer for you to notice than usual. I'm sorry, Widowmaker, but - I lied. We're testing your reactions to various Overwatch personnel in various situations, and this is the fifteenth scenario. You won't remember it either, but... if it helps, it was the last. The next time will be for real."

\-----

_[day 14]_

"We've definitely beaten them back on our side," Tracer said into comms, Talon agents retreating to their ship. "They're in full retreat. Widowmaker took out their... uh... when they... um..." She shook her head and looked up to her sniper, three stories above, who was looking just as confused. "Hey..." she looked around. "How'd we get out of..."

Mercy flew over in full Valkyrie mode, healing field enveloping them both. "Tracer, Widowmaker - I see you've started dropping memories. I'm sorry; I lied, before. This has been a simulation; we're testing your reactions to various situations, and this is the 21st scenario. If it helps... we're done. The next time you wake up, it'll be for real."

\-----

_[day 15]_

Over her latest pint, Tracer realised she couldn't remember how many she'd had. She didn't think it was _that_ many, and she looked over at Widowmaker, confused. "...how much have I had to drink?"

Widowmaker blinked, and looked up from her sherry. She didn't usually drink sherry, but this wasn't bad. But... "...how... how did we get here from containment?"

Dr. Ziegler, sitting next to them, leaned across. "I'm sorry, Lena, but - I lied. We're testing your reactions to various Overwatch personnel in various situations, and this is the 24th scenario. You won't remember it, but... if it helps, it was the last. The next time will be for real. And this time, I actually mean it."

"...how many times have you said that?" asked Lena.

"I've lost count."

\-----

_[day 17]_

"I've got a few more scenarios to run, but after that, I think I've done everything I can do."

Winston nodded. "She seems all right to me, given everything. Same old Lena." He'd started to let himself hope.

Angela leaned forward, looking down a little, and tapped a finger nervously against the conference table's white surface. "To me, as well... I think... But there is something my grandmother used to say, from when she worked in computer security, and it is - what is the expression? Chewing on me?"

"I thought your whole family were biologists or doctors," said Mei-Ling, surprised.

"Most of them," Angela replied. "It is something of a family tradition. But my father's mother was an early computer developer. And a long time ago, in the old days of the Internet, they had a saying - "you can never know, for sure, that you _haven't_ been hacked. You can only know, for sure, that you _have._ "

"And you think that applies here." Morrison pondered the implications of that.

"It clearly does. At least they were not held long - that limits what could've been done. I can say that I am confident they will not turn on us, at least, not quickly, but... we should not take ours eyes off either of them. Not for some time."

\-----

_[day 18]_

 _Ugh_ , thought Lena, waking up on her and Widowmaker's bunk. At least it was shared. She reached over and touched her lover's shoulder. _Two weeks. As cells go, it's comfortable, but I'm goin' nuts._

She heard a knock outside the cell, and the chime of the intercom. "Are you awake yet?" Winston said, over the speaker. "Or, I guess, really, are you... decent?"

Widowmaker blinked herself awake, and had the presence to reply, "Never, Winston - at least, not if I can help it. Are you bringing breakfast?"

"Lena, Danielle, please be serious," came Dr. Ziegler's voice. _Danielle?_ thought the Widowmaker. "I am Danielle again?"

"Yes," returned the intercom. "You don't remember, but you said that was acceptable. I apologise for that - and shouldn't've used it before showing you the video. May we enter?"

Lena sat up, slowly, shook her head, and pulled on a tank-top. "Wids?" The blue assassin still had her bedshirt from last night, put it on, and nodded. "C'mon in - not like we could stop you anyway..."

The door unlocked, and it opened, and Winston and Angela did not step in. Instead, Winston had a big grin, the one he used when he was trying to be happy, and was, a little, but not as much as he wanted to be, contrasting against Angela's smaller, but more genuine smile. "Get your clothes and come on out. You're cleared."

"...What?" blinked Lena. "We've... checked out?"

Angela nodded. "I've done everything I can, and we've run you through ... a lot of scenarios that you do not remember. But I have video of all of them, so you can know all of what happened."

"Why... why don't we remember them? What'd you do?" asked the Overwatch agent.

"Kept you from forming long-term memories, so we could run each trial fresh. Welcome back dinners, nights out at a bar with the team and with individuals, emergency situations, even a few combat trials, to make sure you wouldn't change targets... a lot of tests. But nothing else was blocked - _just_ the tests."

Widowmaker scowled, as Tracer nodded, slowly. "Hoooooo... that's scary, luv, gotta say it. But... if it's what y'had to do, it's probably for the best y'did it. Particularly," she said, stepping out into the hallway, "...given what I'm gonna to propose we do." She grimaced. "Despite who we'd be working with."

"You just _viscerally_ dislike Dr. O'Deorain, don't you. It's a physical repulsion. I've never seen you react like that to anyone else."

Tracer snorted. "As soon as I met her. Can you blame me?"

"No." She shrugged. "I've always found her rather personable - it's her ethical standards I can't tolerate - but had she put me through the same things, I'm sure I'd feel the same way as you."

"I've never liked her," Winston added. "So I'm on your side of this one."

Lena grinned at her friend and exchanged a quick fistbump with the gorilla as Widowmaker appeared behind her at the doorway. "Must Lena still retain custody of my Kiss, while on site?"

"I'm sorry, but yes, and it remains unloaded." Tracer reached over, and squeezed Danielle's hand, as the doctor continued. "Also, Lena... for the moment, your pistols need to stay on the flyer. It's not that we don't trust you, it's that... well... we want to give that more time before deciding there won't be any surprises."

"Na, luv, I get it. S'long as nobody shoots at me if we get raided by Talon and I grab my guns."

"Do we have authorisation to resume contact with the outside world? Emily - Oilliphéist - is expecting to hear from us."

"Absolutely. Except for weapons, you're cleared for the facility. You may use the same transmitter as you used before."

"Thank you. Lena, we should do that."

"Yeh. Winston, you comin'?"

"Sure," said the scientist. "Breakfast first? The whole team is here. Everybody's waiting in the dining room."

Lena shook her head - that sounded almost familiar, somehow - and looked at Widowmaker inquisitively, and her partner shrugged. "Why not?"

"Then - yeah!"


	10. she even got me, once

"Are you ready?" asked Oilliphéist, over audio-only comms.

"I am," replied Widowmaker.

"Château," said Emily.

"Châteauneuf-du-Pape," responded the sniper.

"Vaucluse."

"Signal de Saint-Pierre."

"Lavande."

"What're they doing?" asked Winston, quietly, leaning to Lena, as the two assassins continued to exchange words.

"They did this before, Widow explained it to me," the teleporter replied, leaning to Winston, equally quiet. "It's a kind of integrity check? It's a series of trigger words that key other words. It changes on its own, over time, so if one or two words change, it's no big deal, right? But if it changes a lot, quickly - somebody's mucked with her."

The scientist nodded. "Handy, given where they came from. Emily's English, though - why's it all in French?"

Lena just shrugged, focusing on the word series. The sequence sounded the same as before, to her, but she wasn't entirely sure - she'd tried to remember the list, but there were so many words. She heard Emily say, "Livraison," and immediately thought, _Metro._

"Metro," said Widowmaker, and Lena smiled.

"Centre météorologique canadien," replied Oilliphéist.

"Armoiries."

"Exactly the same as last time."

"Your side, as well," said the spider, "to my distinct relief."

"So," said Lena, "you both basically... check out?"

Widowmaker nodded. "Yes. I wish you had this facility, as well. It is... reassuring."

"Talon didn't build that into you, did they." It wasn't a question. "I wouldn't think they'd want you t'know."

"Spot on," said Emily, over comms. "I think it's a side-effect. We found it ourselves, in her, first - and now I have it, too!"

"Nothin' personal, but if the ability to checksum my brain comes only as part of gettin' my brain rebuilt, I'll opt out."

Widowmaker allowed her lover a small smile. "Understandable."

"Em, you still hiding out at the safehouse?"

"Yes, and it's incredibly dull. Have you talked to Overwatch's council yet?"

"About to - we wanted to check in with you, first. Let you know we were alive."

"I do appreciate that - but Aunt Moira's getting pretty impatient."

"Yeah, well, she can wait - this is our first day out of quarantine. We'll be meeting up after lunch."

"I'll tell her you're out of Overwatch jail, at least... oh! How is, um, the cowboy?"

"Embarrassed," said the defector. "Deservedly."

"Don't be mad at him," Emily replied over comms, "Auntie's good with those darts. They're self-guided. She even got me, once!"

"Before, or after?" asked Widowmaker.

A laugh, over comms. "Before, _obviously_. But still."

"She wouldn't get me now," said Tracer, as Widowmaker nodded in agreement. "Nor me, I think," her lover added.

A giggle. "I'm pretty sure she'd love another chance to practice those upgrades, if he wanted to come by..."

"No," interrupted Tracer, firmly. "Now that we've checked in - we've got some prep work to do on this end, and I need to get some workout time with those pistols you made."

Widowmaker agreed, humming quietly. "Cherie, do you mind? We will contact you again after the meeting."

"I'll be waiting. And tell me how it goes, on the range! I'm so glad to hear your voices again - both of you."

"I know," replied the sniper, eyes half-closed, "it is the same, for me."

"Oilliphéist out."

"Widowmaker out."

"I don't remember giving you clearance for your pistols," Dr. Ziegler said, sternly, as the comms went quiet.

Tracer shook her hands. "C'mon, doc, we've both been locked up for days. I know _I_ need a workout."

"As do I," noted the spider.

"You must have something we can use..."

"This is a research facility, not an Overwatch station. We have a weights room, which you are both welcome to use, but we have nothing like you're requesting." The doctor considered. "Fareeha uses a Helix Security facility when here, perhaps," she thumbed her comm. "Perhaps we can work something out. I'll be right back." She walked to her private office, and the two women talked, quietly, over comms, for a few minutes, before returning.

"Good news; we have a site. She'll meet us there," said the scientist. "No sniper rounds, I'm sorry. But we do have clearance for pistols, supervised, as long as they're kept unloaded outside the range."

The assassin shrugged. "I could, I suppose, limber up with my chain, and re-establish targeting. It is better than nothing."

"Yeah, love," smiled her partner. "Maybe you can even keep up with me now!"

A derisive snort. "I always could."

An hour later, Tracer jinked from target to target, faster than ever, four to five teleports at a time. _This is... this is **wizard**_ , she thought, as she unloaded entire clips into targets in patterns - smiley faces, outlines of airplanes, her initials, whatever came to mind.

Widowmaker watched from a level above, tracking her lover with her empty Kiss, and finding it difficult at first - until her own quickness started to settle in, overriding old habits, old limits, and as it did, she purred. _Ooh la la_ , she thought. _This **is** better. This is... this is **wonderful**._

Pharah, in turn, watched from above, astonished at their raw speed, occasionally exchanging words with Winston over comms, Winston, who worried - deeply - for them both.

\-----

"So that's basically the situation," Lena explained. "We can intervene on one side of this civil war Talon's got going. If we pull it off, we tip the balance back to where it was before Akande got sprung. Moira continues to be terrifying and awful, Talon continues to be a pack of wankers - no offence, love..."

"None taken," replied Widowmaker. "I defected for reasons, after all."

"... _but_ we stop Talon's attempt to start a Second Omnic Crisis. Millions of people - both omnic and human - don't die in the next couple of years just 'cause Doomfist and Reaper have some kind of fascist hard-on for 'struggle.' Both sides of Talon lose a lot, and come out weaker."

"And all Overwatch does is... stay out of the way?" Winston asked.

"Pretty much. I'd be the intermediary, and ... I'd be involved, up close, and unexpected. Mostly to protect Em and Wids - but not just."

"There are reasons I kept you out of Blackwatch, Lena," Morrison said.

"Think I'm not suited for it, then?" she glared just a little, copper eyes glinting.

"Too well suited for it. It's corrosive. You saw what it did to Reyes."

"Someone from Overwatch has to see what happens, _dad_. Unless you just wanna take their word on it."

"Preventing another war _has_ to come first," said Mei-Ling. "The data I have is all very bad. I do not think the ecosystem could handle another conflict like the last one! There is already so much damage, and everything is so unstable now... another war like the last one would push us over several different edges, the results would be catastrophic. Millions dead is far too low an estimate."

Angela nodded. "I have served as a wartime medic and surgeon in enough wars. If we could preempt one - particularly one so large as that..." She shook her head.

"Not to mention, with Talon busy, we could really go to work on Vishkar," added Lúcio, no longer in Brazil, but at the table, stopping by while on tour. "With an Architech on our side, pointing out where we should investigate - we could do a lot of real good while Talon's busy having their little showdown."

"It's almost too good." Hana frowned, skepticism in her voice. "If I saw this in a game, I'd be all 'ha ha no not fallin' for that, n00b.'"

Lena nodded. "Too right. We'd have to be on the lookout for some kinda betrayal at every point."

"Sure," the Korean replied. "But - we're missing something. And here you are, talking about working with" - she gestured at the smirking French Talon agent, who had the sense not to talk about her finest kills - "Mondatta's assassin..."

"I'm already sleeping with her, luv, this isn't a big step," Lena snipped, shifting the rifle on her back, just a little. She missed her new pistols already - but the Kiss being there helped.

"... _and_ maybe she got better, okay, but you're siding up with the mad scientist who made her, and her crazy niece, all to pick a side in their civil war? I'm not the only one seeing bait here, am I?"

"No," said Morrison. "You're not."

"Not trying isn't an option, though," said Mei-Ling.

Oxton nodded, and sighed. "I'm not sayin' I don't see the possible traps. I do. At best, it's messy and it's awful, but I ... I know that Mondatta would want this war stopped. He'd care about how, it would matter, but most of all, he wouldn't want this war to happen."

"And we're not just going after both sides, because...?"

"Because that is probably the one thing that would force them to mend their fences," interjected the blue assassin. "They would go back to working together, rather than fighting each other."

"Nothin' creates alliances like a common enemy," added Lena.

"I still don't like it," said the Meka pilot. She turned to Dr. Ziegler. "I don't care what you think about her personally, doc, but as far as I can tell, Moira's a psychopath." She heard Lena snicker, to her right.

"I never said she wasn't," replied the Swiss woman. "Many psychopaths are personable, when they want to be."

"If she decides she wins by turning on us, she will," Song insisted.

"Absolutely," Lena agreed. "That'll have to be in every decision we make."

"It will be," insisted the soldier. "Assuming we're foolish enough to try this."

"We _have to_ ," insisted Dr. Zhou, again, before being interrupted by Lúcio, objecting, "I don't see how you can even think about working with her, after the way she grabbed you like that. No way I would."

"T'be honest, I'm _scared_ of her. But... not even for a prize this big?"

Lúcio had to think about it, and didn't immediately answer.

"What if it would take down Vishkar?"

The DJ took a long, deep breath, and nodded, slowly once. "...yeah. Maybe."

"There y'go. That's why."

"We _have to_ try," interjected Mei-Ling, again, with surprising vehemence. "Are none of you listening? If they are trying to start this war, if that is Doomfist and Reaper's plan, we _have to_ try. We also have to tell every agency who will listen to us, so they can work against it as well."

Winston nodded, but Morrison and Song started to protest, but Dr. Zhou raised her voice over them, "Did you not hear me? The biosphere cannot take another Omnic war! Look, I have made projections." She threw a set of charts and graphs up over the centre of the conference table. "Carbon stability is only the start of it. Do you think the megastorms of 30 years ago were bad? I have been preparing a paper with the data collected while I was in cryogenic suspension. Imagine one covering half a hemisphere!"

She flipped another set of graphics up. "Now imagine 62-plus degree weather across North Africa, and 65-plus degrees in South Asia."

Another set. "Now imagine the oceans - barely recovering now - essentially devoid of life. There would be no recovery path."

Another set. "Here are agricultural projections. Ignoring war dead, we can project global crop collapses and multiple pandemics resulting from malnutrition and other knock-on effects. This projection - I would expect two to three _billion_ dead. With extremely aggressive use of genetic modifications on a yearly basis, in a best-case scenario, we _might_ cut it to one billion. The first year."

The room had grown silent as the reams of data had shuffled past. "The paper on which these projections are based is going to _Nature_ next month for peer review, but I am confident of my numbers. Do you understand, now? Another Omnic war kills civilisation. Maybe the entire planet. For anyone biological, this war would be a death sentence."

She turned back to the copper-eyed Overwatch agent. "I'm sorry, Lena - if this is what he is trying to do, then Akande must be stopped. If there is any chance, any chance at all, you _must_ take it."

"I... had no idea it was so bad," Oxton managed, after a few seconds.

"It isn't, now, but... it would be."

Morrison flipped through smaller versions of the images on his padd. Hana Song did the same. "Wow," she said, after a few minutes. "Okay, I guess... we have to."

"I think we do," Winston agreed. "The rest of us can dedicate ourselves to analysis - and to other actions against the more militant anti-Omnic groups. This is too important for a single approach. Governmental intervention is critical, but it will take them weeks or months to respond."

Lena frowned. She'd won, but it didn't feel like winning, not at all, as the weight of the situation fell on to her shoulders. "Then, I guess... we're in. We're doin' this."

"I'm sorry," said her best friend, as Morrison and Song both nodded their reluctant but clear assent. "I'm very much afraid we are."


	11. how we see each other, now

Lena looked in the mirror, blinking, tilting her head back and forth, looking at her brown eyes. She frowned, a little. The coloured contacts fit well enough, but she could feel them, just a bit, and didn't like it.

"Whaddya think, love?" she asked, calling over to Widowmaker.

The defector walked over and examined her lover's reflection carefully. "They look very much like your old irises. They will pass ordinary inspection, I'm certain. But not a more careful check - anyone who knows your history should wonder why you are wearing contacts, if nothing else."

Lena nodded. "They feel a bit funny in my eyes. And I think..."

Widowmaker raised an eyebrow, and hummed, inquisitively.

"...I think I'm not seein' as many colours, with 'em in."

"That is possible," the assassin agreed. "Seeing into ultraviolet changes other colours, as well, and those lenses almost certainly filter UV."

"And they itch." She took care not to rub her eyes, not with lenses in, but squinted a little. The lenses settled further, and she felt them less. "Nah, that's not right, but I feel 'em. Don't like that part."

"Are you sure they're properly fit?"

"Yah. The doc said I'd get used to 'em pretty quick."

"That would be for the best, for operational purposes."

Tracer pursed her lips, and stared. The truth of the matter was that they didn't itch. She barely felt them, now, and could tell she'd lose the feeling entirely in less than an hour. And they'd be useful if she had to go anywhere undercover, or where Tracer's brown eyes were known. But...

"...I don't like 'em," she said.

"Your new eyes - they look very much like your old irises, you know. Copper, rather than brown, but the patterns are much the same."

"I know," the teleporter replied. "Angela talked about that."

"And brown, or copper - both are lovely." She leaned forward, brushing her lips against the curve of her partner's ear.

Lena nuzzled back, then emptied the contacts case of its old fluid, replaced the sterile solution, leaned forward, and took out the coloured lenses, one at a time, putting them away. She dabbed her face, a bit, with a damp towel, blinked a few times, and looked back up in the mirror, seeing herself, and Widowmaker, standing just behind her.

 _Copper and gold_ , she thought, and nodded. _That's much better._

"We match," said the blue woman, pleased.

Lena leaned back against her counterpart. "Yeah," she said, relaxing into her body. Reaching up and around her lover's head, she smiled a gentle smile. "We do."

\-----

"Since you're just across town, I thought I could demonstrate my good faith by meeting with our common friends at your own facility," Moira O'Deorain said, over comms. "I could call it an inspection, Dr. Ziegler, if you feel an excuse is required - or I could simply refer to it as a courtesy call. I don't make them often, but with someone of your stature, it wouldn't cause surprise."

"I assure you, we are fully current on our inspections," replied the Overwatch researcher, "but I can't imagine how a visit from the minister herself wouldn't be an honour." She did not say it would be welcome, of course. "Perhaps that."

"That'd be lovely, then. A private meeting of the minds. Brunch at 10:30 tomorrow, perhaps? My staff could cater."

"I already have a service I quite like, and would prefer to use," the doctor demurred. "Amongst other things, they already know where and where not to wander."

"Of course," replied the minister. "They make those lovely little Swiss-style chocolates, don't they? A bit fussy, but in the good way."

"Yes, that's them."

"I've hired them myself, in the past. Tomorrow, then?"

"We will see you in the morning."

Angela dropped the connection, and looked across the room, out of camera range, to the table around which the gathered Overwatch core staff sat. "Well," she said, "That's that. We have a date."

"Here, huh?" asked the cowboy. "Goin' out of her way to be friendly, isn't she."

"She better!" Song interjected. "She better at every step."

Morrison nodded his agreement. "I presume you'll want us out of the picture tomorrow, too?"

"On site, but not in sight, I think so. I will be there, of course. Mei-Ling, are you willing to be present as well?"

"Absolutely!"

"...and Lena and Danielle. Emily is en route, and I presume will be at the table. Everyone else should... be ready. Just in case."

\-----

"Do not take our cooperation as unconditional," Dr. Ziegler stressed, as Dr. Zhou nodded her agreement. "It is not. The primary condition of Overwatch's agreement to stand aside is that _all three_ people involved must be allowed to step away once this is over."

"If that is what they wish," Dr. O'Deorain replied. "My primary interest is always the advancement of knowledge. I've already learned what I can from the Widowmaker project - nothing personal, Lacroix - and..."

"Do not call me that," the senior assassin interrupted.

"Guillard, is it, then?" Moira raised an eyebrow. "Regardless, my techniques were only somewhat advanced by the Oilliphéist refinements. That research track has run its course."

Ziegler nodded, slowly. "Insofar as that goes, it is sensible. But..." She looked over at Widowmaker and Oilliphéist. "You are both extraordinarily effective at what you do. You have to understand my hesitation to accept your freedom at face value."

Moira shrugged. "I can't argue with that."

Mei-Ling nodded. "So you see why we have to ask - you created them. How can we trust you to let them go?"

"I could give you my word, if you'd accept it, but..." the Minister of Genetics smirked, "I know what you'd think of that. But look at it this way - if they decide to leave... well, as you've just noted, they are both extraordinarily effective at violence. Stopping them would be a difficult exercise, at best."

Widowmaker looked smug, and Tracer snickered a little, at that last bit. _Got that right,_ she thought.

"I might suggest," said the Swiss doctor, "that they would not be the only ones demonstrating capability for violence."

The edge of Moira's mouth quirked up. "Well. Haven't we changed."

"Times change us all. I presume we have an understanding?"

"I think we do."

"I'm sure you already have a plan," said Dr. Zhou.

"Of course. And I've already been at it myself. Emily's been kind enough to come along, when some light field work's been necessary."

"It's been dull," the newer assassin said, "to be honest."

"Now, dear, not everything has to be violent."

"No, but it _could_ be."

Lena suppressed her giggle and kept her separate annoyance to herself, as best she could. "F'instance," she said focusing her copper eyes on the doctor, "what?"

"Oh, starting at the bottom, like you'd expect," O'Deorain replied. "One of Akande's key sources in Shanghai suddenly contracted cancer. She'll live, but will be ... unavailable, for some months. Another, in Numbani, developed rather serious heart problems. She is, unfortunately, very loyal - and won't pull through. An accountant in Ukraine has a confusing neurological condition; she'll be fine but won't be able to work for three months, at least. The man I refer to as Mr. Butterpot - I believe Widowmaker has told you about him - just got arrested in Belgium. And so on."

Widowmaker smirked, and Moira nodded her head in her direction. "Thank you for that, by the way. They're calling it tax fraud, but don't let's pretend."

"That on purpose, love?"

"No, cherie," the sniper replied. "Coincidence, honestly."

"But thank you, nonetheless," the Irish doctor insisted.

Lena looked back to the minister. "So - remove the eyes, the whole body goes blind, that sort of thing?"

Moira looked ever-so-slightly amused. "Yes, precisely. Exactly that sort of thing."

"So if you've been so busy already - what'd ya need us for, then?"

The Talon board member laughed. "Field work, particularly at the next stage, once we're done laying the groundwork. I don't like doing it myself, but I'll see it done."

"And we start... where?"

"First, we need to shift the allegiance of a particular pair of analysts. They need to be persuaded to take a sudden but temporary leave of absence. I don't have the hard evidence for blackmail, but I know it exists, and where it is. I need Widowmaker and Oilliphéist to acquire it - and I'd like you along, as backup, to keep them safe."

"Just a bit of thievery, then? Doesn't sounds like something requiring our particular talents, t'be honest."

"It doesn't. Think of it as putting on your trainers - unless you'd rather I threw you in together in a firefight first."

"We could, y'know," Tracer said, annoyed. "Don't underestimate..."

"I'd like the chance to work together a few times, first," Emily interjected. "You and Widowmaker have history, but you and I don't." Her smile returned. "Honestly. I'd really like to get some field time together, before taking on the bigger guns."

Lena humphed, but couldn't argue. "Fair cop."

"Once blinded and deprived of analysis, we'll move a rung up, to his higher level staff - and from there, to his inner circle, and then, to him."

Lena looked around at her lover, and her lover's lover, and back to Moira. "Looks like overkill t'me, doc. Why not go straight to the top?"

" _Allies matter_ , dear," Dr. O'Deorain said. "It may be a bit pre-emptive of me, but I don't want anyone left who will cause the wrong kinds of trouble afterwards. Talon will end this in a fair bit of disarray; I want to be able to reassure everyone quickly, without having to do cleanup work later. If you're going to do a job, do it right the first time."

"Also," said Dr. Zhou, "I imagine his allies support his war plans?"

"Of course," nodded the Irish doctor.

"Then they need to be gone," agreed the Chinese doctor. "This war cannot happen." She'd already explained why.

"Right, then. A bit of thievery to get this thing moving." Lena snorted. "Takes me back t'my youth, t'be honest."

Emily blinked and turned her head. "You stole?"

"War orphan, luv. Things got dicey 'till I got picked up, sorted out. How d'ya think I know nobody likes a thief?"

Emily just giggled. "That's hilarious. Can't wait to find out you also ran numbers."

"Hey now, none of that!" Lena replied, a little embarrassed. "I was just hungry."

"Weren't we all."

\-----

Gabriel Reyes sat alone late at night in his office, cowl back, mask set aside, looking over personnel and source reports from the last few months.

 _Cancers, brain tumours, sickness, heart conditions... none of this smells right_ , he thought, sorting through the lists of the affected. Outbreaks happened, including of strange diseases and conditions, in this between-wars world, and the contagious cases had civilian co-cases around them, but something about this one just felt a little too... focused. A few too many outliers in the odds.

He leaned back in his chair, reminded himself of his paranoia, and ran the list - and their politics - through his mind anyway. Some of Moira's agents, some of Doomfist's, some of Maximillian's, a couple of his own, a few without particular allegiance to anything but money. Most would probably survive, but... _Someone's making a move. Or getting ready to make one._

He considered the possibilities. Moira, of course. Always suspect number one, no matter what. Maximilian could hire the right talent, if he'd decided Akande's plans were too grand. Angela Ziegler could do it, certainly, but it's not the sort of thing she does - or did. People change. Geanna Mariani, perhaps, but it's not her style - she enjoys playing with people, but not with diseases. Several covert government agencies, all capable.

 _I see you_ , he thought. _I don't know who you are. But... I **see** you._


	12. everything I came for

"Well well," the doctor said, as the door closed, muffling the sound of flight engines revving up. "It's been a long time since I've seen _that_ particular emblem on anyone's shoulder."

Lena, all in black, smirked. "Seemed fitting, mate, if I'm workin' with th' likes of you."

They'd found the old Blackwatch armour Tracer now wore while looking through storage at Gibraltar. Tracer had gone looking for her locker not long after the recall, and found it empty, but the storage closet at the end of the row had held all sorts of surprises.

"It won't slow you down, will it?" Oilliphéist asked, already settled in next to pallets of boxed cargo. "All that extra weight..."

"It's not so bad, luv," Tracer replied, "Lighter than it looks."

"But not as light as mine," pointed out Widowmaker, making room next to Oilliphéist, and further room for Tracer, on her opposite side. "We should find a way to get you something made of the same material."

"Might do," Tracer nodded, sitting down next to her lover, "later. But," she smiled at Widowmaker, "maybe somethin' with a bit more to it. Maybe you don't feel the cold, but I sure do. Particularly places like where we're goin'..."

"Be glad it's autumn," Widowmaker noted, "and not winter."

"Got that right." She felt the aircraft launching forward and up. "Hup, we're off!"

"I brought blankets," Emily said, smiling while pulling one over.

The pressurised - but not entirely climate-controlled - cargo hold in which the four women sat wasn't the worst transport Tracer had ever been on, but it wasn't a day in Spain, either. Officially, all four of them were "machine parts," which Emily in particular found strangely funny.

"Well, we're all here now - let's hear it," the Overwatch agent said. "Where're we going, other than 'north'?"

Moira tipped her head in acknowledgement. "Tiksi. It's the closest remaining inhabited city - if you can call it that - to the Siberian Omnium. From there, we're going to Kyusyur, which is both uninhabited, and closer still. It was held as military outpost early in the previous war, before being abandoned. If my information is correct - and I'm quite certain it is - there will be a small cluster of abandoned computer storage devices containing files showing how our analysts stole a rather substantial portion of defence data for resale." She handed out three disposable PADDs. "Maps, with all routes and relevant locations. Memorise them."

"How'd y'find out about this?" Lena asked, dubiously.

"They ended up selling it to _us_ , dear. I've met the charming couple. Unfortunately for them, they like to tell stories - including the one of their daring escape from the Omnics."

"'Course they did," she snorted, flipping through pages on her device. _And now you're betraying 'em._ "So if you've got the sale, why not... oh, I get it, y'need proof of theft, 'cause that wasn't you."

"Proof of a high crime connected in no way to Talon," the doctor nodded. "Exactly."

"And you're along 'cause..."

"Because I'm the one who can confirm the data. But surely you wouldn't turn down a field medic on assignment, would you?"

"If it's you, I might."

"Well, then, also consider me an observer. I need to see how the three of you work together in practice, not just theory."

Emily smiled, hopefully. "We might see some action?"

"I'd be surprised if we didn't. Kyusyur is officially abandoned and demilitarised, but I think we all know better than that."

"Omnics, then?" asked Tracer.

"Better than nothing," said Emily.

\-----

Widowmaker scanned the remnants of the former military outpost, once the administrative centre of the Bulunsky District, back when such a district existed more than just on paper. "There are definitely a small number of Omnic forces active and on site. I scan what appear to be three OR-14 variants, but the outlines are different - heavier armour, or perhaps insulation, I cannot say - and... ten NT-5s, presumably support."

"NT-5s? Really?" replied Tracer. "Null Sector had a lot of those on their side in London. There're still up and running?"

Widowmaker nodded. "Running well enough to appear in my sights, at very least." She touched the side of her headdress, transferring the data to their PADDs.

Oilliphéist chortled. "Do you think they're aware the war is over?"

Tracer snickered. "Good question. Guess we'll find out!" She shook her head. "No, wait. These... aren't actually in the way?"

"No," said the sniper. "If we are stealthy, we should be able to retrieve the data without alerting them."

"Then we ought," said Tracer.

"Ah, well," sighed Oilliphéist. "Another boring mission. Omnics aren't as much fun as humans anyway."

"You weren't there for Null Sector, mate. Don't underestimate 'em," Tracer warned, but Oilliphéist just shrugged.

"I will take this tower," Widowmaker indicated the highest point on the map. "It will give me a good view of the building on the two sides closest to the Omnic presence. Oilliphéist, you take the other side, on the roof of the low building just northeast. We'll maintain tight contact. Tracer, you and Moira can enter the facility together and acquire the data, yes?"

"Gotcha," said the teleporter. "I can jump ahead, make sure the coast is clear before the rest of you move in."

"Then let's not waste any more time," Moira said. "Go."

Tracer teleported ahead, jinking faster than any eyes other than Oilliphéist's, Widowmaker's, or her own could follow, reaching the back of the target building in under half a second. "Nothing on the southeast side," she said, waiting for recharge. "Tower looks clear and sound."

She jinked around the building, verifying ground level all around. "Wids, move in?"

The quiet chain of the Widowmaker wasn't quite silent, and Tracer watched as her lover launched herself up, onto the top of the abandoned lookout tower. "Tower clear," she said, scanning the surroundings. "No additional Omnic activity detected. Northeast building appears clear; Oilliphéist, move in."

Oilliphéist ran half the distance, than teleported the rest of the way to her designated rooftop, laying low to the surface. "Position clear and held. Moira, clear to move in."

Tracer jumped as Moira appeared next to her from a small cloud of black smoke. "That's even creepier when you're the one doin' it, y'know that?"

"I should add sulphur to my field kit to complete the impression, don't you think?"

Lena grimaced, and pointed. "Door. Open."

"Of course." The Talon director pulled a small device from her coat pocket and placed it over the disabled lock and hit a small red button. Coils inside induced power to the circuit; the lock reactivated, and she punched a very old security code into the keypad, and the door politely opened just enough to slip inside.

"Neat gadget," admitted the teleporter, looking into the darkness. "Widowmaker, anything?"

"Not yet. Still watching."

"Follow me," said Moira, lighting a very dim lamp as she stepped into the hallway. "This should not take very long."

The two women walked quickly down the empty corridor. Most of the doors remained closed, as Tracer presumed they would've been at abandonment. A left turn, then a short right. Another closed door, a replay of the previous lockbreaking, and they were in.

"This should be it," said the Irish woman, looking at the small workspace, with its sensor equipment, radio gear, desk, rotting chair, and most importantly, Omnic War-era computer system, sitting where it had been abandoned, all those years before.

Tracer stood guard at the doorway and watched over the corridor back out as Moira worked to take apart the antique computer. "So, Lena - how do you feel?"

"No time to feel anything, mate. Guarding a hallway. Creeped out, a little, maybe."

"No difficulties with your vision, then?" She pulled open an access panel. "You've clearly adjusted to your improved reflexes and nerve speed. You haven't encountered any problems?"

Lena frowned, eyes flickering back to the Talon doctor for just a moment, before turning to her primary task. "...nah. Everything works fine."

"Good." Moira pulled a set of storage elements from the case, and started plugging them into her padd's special interface, one at a time, as it scanned for data on each one. "Is Angela satisfied? She was always so conservative. It has always held her back."

"Most of Overwatch is a little afraid of me, thanks to you," the teleporter replied, quietly, with a hint of a hiss. "If this wasn't so damned important, I'd probably be helping hunt _you_ down right now, not Akande - Ministerial position or no."

"So suspicious, all of you! You'd think I'd sent you back cold and blue, not copper-eyed and warm." She flipped through more storage elements. "Even we wouldn't've kept you locked up so long - Talon knows a good thing when it sees it."

"Y'mean, like you saw Amélie Lacroix?" Tracer did not hide her hostility.

" _Exactly_ like we saw her - and who she could become." She smirked. _Ah, there's the first half..._ She pocketed the card, and moved to the next. "It would have been so much easier to condition her to assassinate first Gérard, and then herself. But we saw who she could be. You see it, too, or you couldn't be in love with who we made."

"Dangerous ground, mate. Watch it. I could still change my mind about all this."

"I'm sure you could," she agreed, a hint of amusement in her voice, "but our purposes are aligned, so why would you?" She moved to yet another card. "It's too bad, though - you'd make a wonderfully effective Talon agent. Should this work out - and once we've eliminated the threat of war - I'd hope you'll consider it. Humanity does need to improve, and you'd fit in well."

_Ugh_ , Lena thought, shuddering. "Now you're just bein' mean. You done yet?"

_Ah,_ the doctor thought, _there we are,_ as her padd confirmed the missing data's integrity. "Yes." She pocketed the second matching card.

"Movement," said Widowmaker's voice over comms.

"Did we trip something?" asked the teleporter. "A silent alarm?"

"I do not think so. They are moving out, but not quickly."

"I've got them - heading northeast, away from us," reported Oilliphéist. "Maybe just a patrol..."

"Possibly. We should evacuate immediately, nonetheless," continued the senior assassin.

"Yeh," Tracer replied. "We got what we came for."

"That we did," agreed Moira, packing the last of her toolkit, and heading for the hallway. "Let's make for the flyer."

Widowmaker's voice appeared again on comms as the two women slipped through the exterior door. "Drone incoming! Omnic. Armed. RO-12." She shot it out of the sky with a single shot as it approached Oilliphéist's position. "Move!"

Oilliphéist appeared beside Tracer in a puff of black smoke. Somehow, it didn't seem as creepy to Tracer when she did it. "C'mon, girlfriend-in-law, let's don't dawdle..."

Tracer nodded, pistols already out, scanning the sky for another drone. "Looks clear, but eyes up, people. Wids, join us at your..."

"Patrol has changed course. Incoming hostiles." She threw herself over the tower railing, then reached back with her chain and launched herself high into the air just before touching down. At apogee, she fired. "First OR-14 down."

The three women on the ground jogged towards their flyer which lay hidden in the wide, frozen ravine to the southwest. "The OR-14s aren't fast, but they have good range, and those troopers can make pretty good time..." Tracer said, as bullets flew overhead, and all three women teleported further along, catching up with the landing Widowmaker.

"Nice shot, love," Tracer said, as the sniper fired another round.

"Second OR-14 down, but the troopers are closing upon us."

Moira frowned at Oilliphéist. "I said you should've let me give Widowmaker teleportation."

"Sounds like now's the time to see how we fight together, Em," Lena said, and Oilliphéist grinned broadly. "About time! Moira, you and Wids keep going."

"No. There is a third OR-14, I will continue to provide cover."

"And I am your field medic." Moira launched a strange, yellow sphere towards the oncoming troopers. "I will take care of you."

Oilliphéist and Tracer nodded, and separated, left and right, flanking the incoming group of NT-5s as single-person pinchers, dividing the group into forward and rear halves, five a person.

_They're so much **slower** than I remember_ , Tracer thought, as she emptied clips into Omnic heads, smashing sensor arrays, destroying processors, dodging lagging fire. _Must be the cold._

_At least these old models explode prettily_ , Emily thought, smiling, as she smashed chassis with the hilts of her fangs, alternating rifle shots with body blows. _Smell awful, though. Must be the electrics._

The two women met, back to back, in centre, unharmed, and finished their last remaining opponents almost simultaneously, Oilliphéist with a shot to a primary sensor array, Tracer with a set of shots separating a head from its body, and they turned their heads and looked at each other.

"Wow," Tracer said. "That was..."

"...fun," grinned Oilliphéist. "Nice shooting, by the way."

"Nice punching. Didn't know you had that."

"It's nice to get up close once in a while."

Lena found herself smiling back at Emily. "Yeh. It is."

Widowmaker smirked, rifle at her hip, not so far away. "Third OR-14 down, if you were wondering," she said, over comms. "We should still not dally, reinforcements are almost certainly en route."

The two younger fighters teleported back to the group, and Moira smiled a thin smile as she bathed them in her biotic healing field. "I admire your efficacy. Do you realise that took you all of 18 seconds' time?"

"18... seconds?" blinked Tracer. She'd felt unhurried.

"I know, coulda been faster," Oilliphéist grinned. "I was just enjoying the dance."

"I enjoyed seeing it, as well," replied her creator. "But fun time is over. Widowmaker is correct, we have accomplished our mission." Oilliphéist relaxed, subtly, at those words. "We should depart."

Moira watched out of the side of her eye as Oilliphéist and Tracer joked with each other, and Widowmaker smiled, almost softly, at them both. _That went well,_ she thought, as she quietly disabled the omnic intruder alarm she carried in her coat pocket. _No need to bring in any more enemy troops - not now that I really **do** have everything I came for._


	13. someone you more fully trust

"Didn't know there were good restaurants in Latvia," Lena said, bemused, standing outside the little blue-walled building in the heart of old Riga. "Or... d'ya just really like blue? 'Cause I can see how y'would."

Emily snickered and Danielle raised an eyebrow and smirked as Moira tutted at the Overwatch agent. "We have a layover, we may as well enjoy it. And Latvian cuisine is under-appreciated." She opened the door, and gestured. "Ladies?"

The four agents had smuggled themselves back out of Russia via the cold compartments of slow cargo planes, much the same way as they'd smuggled themselves in. From here, they'd depart at 3am in yet another hold - this time listed as network infrastructure equipment - which left them several hours to kill.

The restaurant's interior consisted of several rooms with vaulted ceilings in white plaster. Graceful full-width brickwork archways connected each section, pillar sconces providing warm and decorative light.

"I wonder what this would've looked like before," Lena said, quietly, copper eyes revealing every detail, even in the darkest shadows. "I bet the ambience would've been fantastic."

"A bit old fashioned for me," Emily said. "Warm, though, and the food's good. It's nice."

"Been here before, then?" Lena asked, receiving a nod of confirmation.

"I think it's lovely," Danielle said. "Is it real?" she asked, touching the brickwork. It felt old, and sturdy.

"I have no idea," said the Oasis minister, as the maitre d' escorted them to a reserved table. "I'm not sentimental about such things - or about much at all, really." Moira ordered for the table, of course, in surprisingly fluent Latvian.

"How many languages you speak, mate?" Lena asked, over her Valmiermuižas, once the beer arrived. Emily took a drink of her Brenguļu and smiled, while Widowmaker found herself presented with a small amount of Riga black balsam liquor, and water.

"As many as I need to," the doctor replied, sipping her Kvass. "I imagined you to be a beer person. How is it?"

"Not bad," she admitted, reluctantly, watching Widowmaker sample her liquor. "Don't know much about Latvian brewing, but..."

"I've gone a bit in, I admit," Moira replied. "But it's hardly anything I can't afford. You all performed very well yesterday, and I think we deserve a bit of indulgence, don't you?"

"This is ... extraordinary," Widowmaker said, eyes closed, savouring the dark liquid in front of her. "I've never tasted anything like it."

"The water's there for a reason, love," Emily noted. "There's a lot more vodka in that than you think."

Danielle gave her lover half a smile, reopening her eyes. "Thank you."

"Buckle in," she continued. "It's a Latvian restaurant, so there's going to be a _lot_ of food."

"Given your metabolisms," Moira interjected, "normally, I'd order for two. But with Lena here, I've gone ahead and ordered for four."

Oxton frowned, then noticed exactly how hungry she was. "...the accelerator core." She had her vest with her, carefully tucked away inside a backpack, power left on - the advantages of separate pieces had not been lost upon her.

"I imagine it's been working overtime. How you haven't noticed before now is beyond me."

"I've been hungry, just not... hoo, yeah."

"Drink your beer," the scientist said. "You'll need it. Oh, good, look - here come the pirāgi."

"Ooooh, Lena, you'll love these," Emily chirped.

"Pirogi? Sure, love 'em..."

" _Pirāgi_ ," she stressed. "Better! Y'like bacon?"

"Oooooo."

"Yeh, then," she grinned. "These are _good._ "

"You want to, I dunno, help guide me through this? Never had all that much eastern food before... least not eastern Europe..."

"Glad to!" She held up one hand, sticking up fingers as she went. "Rule number one: drink a lot. Rule number two: eat a lot. Rule number three: y'don't need to like beets. But it helps. I'll be skipping the soup. Rule number four: see rule number one. Got it?"

Lena's grin mirrored Emily's own. "Got it!"

_[an hour later]_

"So I told Jack, I told Jack," she said, a bit in her cups, but not too much more than she realised, "this is bloody happenin' mate, and that's all there is to it. And it did! So if I won that argument with him - a bleedin' American white guy - I'm sure not gonna lose it w' you!"

Emily laughed, a little bit in hers as well. "Sorry, luv - not tryin' it next time, either. Beets are rubbish."

"You even said yourself - you said it - how good the aukstā zupa looked," Lena said, finishing off the last of her kartupeļi ar siļķi un biezpienu, as the rupjmaizes kārtojums arrived. "And how good it smelled, and you're stickin' by that? Won't even try it?"

"I'm afraid have to side with Lena, cherie. And I am both French and very picky."

"Sorry, but, sorry, no. Beets are gross. You're both wrong, and that's all there is to it."

"Fffft," Lena articulately opined. "Barmy."

"At least we agree on the herring," smirked the senior assassin.

"Oh, yeah, no, this is the only way I'll eat cottage cheese. That's true. Tho' it's funny... I think I like it more, now. Normally, I don't mind it that much, and it... kind of rounds off the fish, doesn't it? But this time I think I actively liked it."

"Really?" asked Moira, meditating on the last of her karbonāde, waiving off dessert. "That is new. I didn't do that. At least, not intentionally."

"It's been a while," Emily shrugged, smiling. "Maybe my tastes just changed. Or I'm just misremembering."

"Right, then!" Oxton exclaimed. "Shopping list amended. Cottage cheese in the fridge is fine, but beets? Right out."

"Well, they can be _around_... I don't want to... I don't know... kill all beets... tho' they'd probably explode nicely... they're just..." She shook her head, nope, nope, nope, nope, "Not food!"

Lena laughed, tipping over almost but not quite into her newly-placed dessert plate, overwhelmed with giggles. _Oooh, that smells good!_ She sampled a piece of the cranberry, rye, and whipped cream confection with her finger. _Ooooh, it is!_

She looked back up at her tablemates. _Bloody hell,_ she thought, _how am I enjoying this so much?_ She leaned back, took another drink of her Valmiermuižas, and smiled softly as Widowmaker and Oilliphéist continued to debate affectionately about vegetables.

 _Must be the company,_ she thought, a little dreamily, while expertly ignoring Moira on her left. _Must be that._

\-----

Dr. Ziegler pulled the full-body scanner head down from the ceiling, centring it over Lena's body. "Now, we're doing a different type of scan than anything we did three weeks ago. This is an experimental device, very new. It makes a series of process images, so we'll be here for - oh, a good 45 minutes or more. Do you need to use the facilities?"

"Nah, I'm good. I went before I left." Tracer had come directly over from the short-term leased apartment she was sharing with Oilliphéist and Widowmaker. A compromise neutral ground agreed to by the two doctors, monitored by both, it would be their joint residence throughout the operation. And possibly after, if all went well.

"But..." she added, "how'm I gonna stay still that long?"

"You shouldn't," the research doctor said, pertly, adjusting controls. "I will be showing you several images - they'll appear above you, you won't need to turn your head - and occasionally asking questions. Say whatever comes to mind at any point, and if you feel like moving, do not suppress it except to stay on the table. Don't make extra motions, but anything spontaneous - just let it happen."

"...am I gonna remember this?" Lena asked, nervously.

The doctor blinked. _I hadn't anticipated that. I should've._ "I... suppose that is a very good question, given what we did the first time, isn't it? Yes. You will remember all of this."

"That's good," Lena said, nervousness still in her voice. "I didn't like that. Not rememberin'."

 _That's not good enough_ , the doctor thought. "No. I... no. This will not do. May I drop medical privacy protocols for a moment?"

"...I guess so? Why?"

"Because - given everything that has happened, and is still happening - I think you should have someone here you... more fully trust, in this matter. May I invite Danielle to observe?"

Lena smiled, and relaxed, visibly. "I'd like that, doc. If y'don't mind. She's right outside with Emily anyway."

"I am not surprised." She touched a few buttons and the room became ever so slightly less quiet. Stepping over to the door, she opened it, and spoke quietly with the former Talon assassin, who, after a few moments, stepped into the small room, whispering her assurances to her lover, who remained just outside.

"I apologise that it's a little cramped - we don't normally have a third person present. But I appreciate your cooperation," she said, reactivating privacy protocols.

The Widowmaker nodded, as the room went ever so slightly more quiet. "I appreciate you thinking to ask for it." She looked to her left, noticing her rifle's presence. "I am standing next to my Kiss. Does that violate security protocol?"

Dr. Ziegler looked - _strictly speaking, it does, doesn't it... but I think..._ \- and shook her head, no. "Thank you for alerting me. It... you do not need to move either yourself or, ah, her."

"Thank you. It makes me feel more comfortable, this way. Hello, cherie."

"Could y'leave privacy off, luv?" asked Lena. "Em... there may not be a lot of room in here, but I don't mind Emily hearin' stuff. And she and Widowmaker..."

"I would prefer to keep them on. I value confidentiality highly. Unlike in Switzerland, it is not mandatory, but..."

"It is fine," the senior assassin told the doctor. "We discussed this possibility earlier, and she does not object."

"You absolutely sure?" asked Lena.

"Yes. She's largely just relieved that I'm allowed in here - for obvious reasons."

"Aw," Lena blushed the tiniest bit. "Can I hold your hand? Is that all right?" she asked, looking over to the doctor mid-query, and taking her lover's hand anyway.

 _It will take a very long time for me to get used to that_ , the doctor thought, a little nervous, now, herself. "For the moment only. During the session, I'm afraid not - your arm needs to be under the scanner, like the rest of you. I'd let you hold hands on the table, but I don't know how your two nervous systems would interact, and I do not want the readings intermixed."

"Ah, yeah, that makes sense." She squeezed Widowmaker's hand, briefly, and moved her arm back under the scanner.

"Some of these questions may be fairly personal. Please just respond however comes to mind, regardless of Am," she corrected herself, "Danielle's presence. Can you still do that, with her here?"

"Absolutely," responded the teleporter, and the assassin smiled.

"Do you mind that, Danielle?"

"Not at all."

"Then let us begin."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The restaurant is based on [Folkklubs Ala Pagrabs](https://www.tripadvisor.com/Restaurant_Review-g274967-d2178722-Reviews-Folkklubs_Ala_Pagrabs-Riga_Riga_Region.html#photos;geo=274967&detail=2178722&ff=246659848&albumViewMode=hero&aggregationId=101&albumid=101&baseMediaId=246659848&thumbnailMinWidth=50&cnt=30&offset=-1&filter=7&autoplay=), a real restaurant in Riga. The meal itself is [traditional Latvian cuisine](https://therussianabroad.com/traditional-latvian-cuisine/).


	14. how long has it been so?

"Heya...?"

Lena's uncharacteristically quiet voice came from the bedroom door, as the two blue assassins lay curled up with each other in Emily's bed, tired from lovemaking, but not quite taken by sleep, not yet.

"Mmmm?" said Oilliphéist, rolling over, just a bit, looking towards the sound.

"What is it, cherie?" asked Widowmaker, scooting up a little, propping herself up against the headboard. "Is something wrong?"

"Nah, it's..." The nightshirt-clad Overwatch agent looked down, not at her feet, but not entirely not at her feet either, and hesitated.

"We keeping you up, luv? We're done in for the night, if we have, so..."

"Yes," added Widowmaker. "If you wanted to join in, I can't say I'd object in general, but you're a bit late. I think we're both fairly well sated," She smirked, but affectionately. "I'm afraid you'll have to wait 'til tomorrow."

_You absolute tease_ , Lena thought, snickering. "Nah, that's not it either. I'm... just..." She make a little noise, one made of air, and embarrassment. "I'm... lonely."

"Gordon Bennet, you're worse than me!" Emily giggled, softly. "Lonely? Really?"

"I know," she said, hastily, "I sound like a bleedin' five year old kid, don't I? I'm just... I'm used to hearin' people. To people bein' around, either at Gibraltar, or my apartment, or on mission..."

"These apartments are very well soundproofed," agreed the Widowmaker. "I find it relaxing."

"I can see that, but I just can't, I just can't... not tonight." She steeled herself. "Can I sleep with you? Just, y'know, _sleep?_ So it's not so..." she waved her hands, a little. "...isolated? I don't like feelin' alone. S'got bad associations for me."

"Sleep, you mean... with both of us?" Emily asked.

"Yeh, just... ah, this is daft, I didn't realise how quick I'd get used to not bein' in bed by myself. I'm fine." She made a little noise of frustration pointed at no one but herself. "I'm sorry, luvs, I don't even know what I was thinkin', I'll..."

"No," her lover said, quickly. "Come, cherie," Danielle continued, moving aside the bedcover on her left. "Please - sleep with us."

Lena blushed a little but hopped immediately over to the side of the bed. "Y'sure? You don't have t'say yes, I..."

"I am fully aware of that, and yet, I am saying yes. Get in."

"This all right with you, Em?" Lena said, sliding under the covers as Widowmaker rearranged pillows.

"Not afraid I might kill you in your sleep, then?" Emily needled, shifting over just a tad to make more room.

Tracer snorted softly, a single, small laugh as she settled in. "Nah, luv. I'm..." She looked a little amused at the idea herself. "I'm really not."

"We've already been through that once," Widowmaker interjected, quietly, settling back down between them. "She is, I think, over it."

"Yeh," Lena said, softly, laying her head by Danielle's shoulder, kissing it once, a gentle touch. "I think I am."

Emily smiled less euphorically than was her wont, and reached over, running her hand through Lena's hair, petting her. "Good. I'm..." She thought for a moment. "...I'm glad."

"I am, too... oh, that feels really nice," She breathed, nuzzling, a little, at Oilliphéist's fingers and palm.

"I know."

"Hoooooo, this is better," she said, tension draining from her voice as she settled in. "Thank you."

Widowmaker hummed, a satisfied sound. "You are welcome. Now, both of you - it is late. Go to sleep."

"Good night, Lena."

"G'night, Em."

Emily snuggled in against her lover, and looked across at the copper-eyed woman opposite her, as her eyes closed. _I was ready to kill her just a few weeks ago, and yet... she's so easy to get along with, like I've known her all my life... she's so much like..._

She opened her eyes again, suddenly not quite so sleepy, not quite so asleep. _She **is** , isn't she. It's subtle, but... she **is** like... me. Just a bit. Is that why Widowmaker fell for her? Or..._

She reached over, gently cupping Lena's face in her palm, and Lena, already asleep, nuzzled into her hand, again, reflexively, just a little.

_I wonder... how long that's been so._

\-----

"Of course she does," Moira replied, matter-of-factly. "I'd be surprised if she didn't."

Oilliphéist frowned, something she didn't do often, not anymore, but gave her aunt a chance. "Explain that."

Moira smirked. "It's entirely straightforward. I wouldn't think you'd need an explanation."

"Humour me," said the assassin, still frowning. She didn't like how it felt, but that didn't stop her, either.

"My, you _are_ annoyed, aren't you? Come on, dear, think it out. What do you and she have in common?"

"Widowmaker."

"...true, but, not what I meant. What else?"

She thought about it. "Being English?"

"Half, in your case, but..."

"Raised in England."

"Wrong track, dear."

She thought about it again. "Eyes."

"Ah," came the reply, "now we're heading down the correct road. Go on..."

"...eyes..." _Oh_ , she thought, realising. "...and nervous systems."

"See?" Her aunt smiled. "Hardly so complicated after all, is it?"

"They're that similar?" she asked, surprised.

"It's the same set of upgrades, and I can't imagine why you think I'd vary the parameters for no reason - at least, not beyond the obvious changes for medical compatibility with her individual physiology and genetics."

"Huh," said her niece, neutrally.

"It's not surprising in the least you're seeing similarities. All of her smallest movements have certainly shifted, just a bit. Yours did, and in the same ways... so of course you're now just a bit more alike. Widowmaker, as well. You're seeing things in each other that you'll never see in anyone else - at least, anyone else who hasn't been similarly upgraded."

"And that's all it is," Emily replied, uncertainty in her voice.

"Well, I can't speak to that. But anything else you're seeing, I'd have to think you'd've seen it before."

"That's..." And suddenly, she thought back, to that night in Lena's apartment, those weeks ago, with Oxton unconscious underneath her. _I see what you see in her..._ she remembered saying. "...huh. Maybe... maybe I did. A little. When we took her in, I remember..."

"Exactly. And now, you're just that little more alike. The burrs everyone has on their edges smoothed off, I suppose, just for the... three of you. The slightest bit - and please don't relate this to your sex life, I have no interest in hearing about that - additionally compatible. Complimentary, even."

"Yeh," nodded Oilliphéist. "I remember, when I..."

"You said how well you thought you'd work together, as a team - as a triad. You told me about it, and I complimented you on your vision."

"Yeah," she nodded. remembering. _That... yes. I remember that._

"If there's a little smoothing out of abrasive edges as a side-effect of the upgrades, and that smoothing helps... so much the better, wouldn't you say?"

Emily looked deeply thoughtful, contemplating. _It all makes sense_ , she agreed. _But... it's just... awfully neat, isn't it. Awfully, awfully neat._

"I'd be lying if I said I hadn't considered the possibility this might happen. Truth be told, I'm glad it did - I've told her outright she'd make an excellent agent on our side, after all this is over, and being friendly with you wouldn't exactly hurt anything in that effort. You'd like that, I'm sure, wouldn't you?"

Emily smiled, and chuckled. "I'd ... yeah. I would. I wouldn't want to be on the opposite side of a fight with her. Not if I could help it."

"Well, she turned me down flat, of course - as you'd expect. But who knows - over time, she may revisit that decision."

Oilliphéist snorted. "I doubt it. I just hope we can work something out amongst the three of us."

"Fair enough," nodded the Oasis minister of genetics. "Well, then. That's answered. Is anything else bothering you?"

She shook her head. _Aunt Moira's always been there for me_ , she thought. _Why not here, as well?_ "No, I... no. I think I'm fine."

"If anything else bothers you, niece, bring it to me. I'll always want to know."

"Of course, auntie. Absolutely."

Dr. O'Deorain shifted in her chair. "On my end, I have good news - our analysts have seen the wisdom of some rather substantial time off. They've been working so hard for so long, it seems they've decided they've earned a vacation."

"Oh? Where are they going?"

"Bora Bora and Tahiti. They're going to spend a month and a half sailing around the islands and exploring tropical beaches. It should be lovely."

"Well, good on 'em, then."

"Indeed. I'll have your next mission plan ready by the end of the week. Tell your ... counterparts to be ready."

"I will."

"Good. Moira out."

The research doctor arched her fingers against each other, leaning back in her chair, frowning, as the connection dropped. _She shouldn't've noticed that_ , she thought. _It's too soon. I've underestimated her... but fortunately, she's on my side._

She closed her eyes and thought deeply about the next six weeks. _I'll need to accelerate the rest of this plan, but I can do that. I'll need to inform Kamaria... and Jabari. They will both need to know. Everyone else should not be a problem._

Nodding to herself, she reworked actions in her head, thinking about what could, and could not, be moved, stacking the many individual pieces into a slightly new, and slightly more compact, order. _It's all for the best, regardless. Emily will be entirely happy about it, once all's said and done._

_Yes. Yes. That will do._ She opened her eyes, new changes all thought out, and gave herself a thin smile. _They'll all be very, very... happy._


	15. Some of it, I find I even like

Lena's face lit up as Winston lumbered into the small conference room, carrying a box of Lena's clothes, some photos, and a small number of other personal items from her London apartment. "So here you are! I've been looking all over."

"Aw, brilliant! Thanks, luv!" she said, pulling out an orange and yellow tank top. "It's nice to have some things from home."

Her best friend grinned, and nodded. "Send Hana a thank you note, if you get a chance. She's the one who flew over and picked it up."

"She's not here?" she asked, picking out matching running shorts. "She was here when we left for Russia..."

"Afraid not - she got called back to Korea to lead some exercises. She'll be back as soon as she can, though."

The teleporter rummaged through more of her clothing and held a bundle of it up to her face, smelling at the pile. "Oasis isn't bad, but I miss London, it's been..." She put the pile back down. "...huh."

"Huh?"

"Think I need t'give these another wash," she said, rubbing at her nose. "Hey, what's..." She reached into the box, and pulled out a small spherical object. "Oh, right, that bath bomb I bought!" she said, unwrapping it a little, then making a face. "Ugh! Well, there's the problem. This smells terrible! What was I thinking?"

The scientist chortled. "Smells fine to me, but..."

"Stinky or not, thanks again for bringing all this. Like I said - it's just... reminders of home," she said. _Reminders of before,_ she thought. "Nice to have." She wrapped the bath boom back up in its plastic before placing it discreetly into the trash, then put the clothes back into the box to carry back to the neutral ground apartment once Dr. Ziegler was done looking over Widowmaker. _So many scans_. She shook her head, tired of lying on tables, surrounded by beeping equipment.

Winston sat on the large chair, the one Angela's brought in especially for him. "How're you doing, Lena? Really?"

"Not so bad," she replied, sitting down beside him. "I mean... everything's a little crazy - what we're doing, who we're doing it with - but..." She bit her lower lip. "S'funny, tho'... I like her."

"Moira?" the scientist asked, dubiously.

Lena snorted. "No."

"Emily."

She nodded. "Yeh. It's weird, luv. She's... really easy to get along with. She's, she's, _nice_. When she's not out to kill you, anyway. It doesn't even seem forced, it's just how she is."

"I find that very surprising, given _who_ she is..."

"I guess I have a thing for murderous women in blue?" she tried to joke.

"... _and_ that she helped kidnap you both," he continued, not letting himself be deterred. "I know we've talked about this already, but I'm still so sorry..."

"We don't have to talk about it again, luv," she said, reaching out and putting her hand on his. "It's not your fault, and I don't blame you. But..." She let out a frustrated sigh. "Ugh, how do I even say this? With her, with Em, it's like... it's like there's just no friction between us, right? Ever. We even fought in Russia like we'd been fightin' together for years, and it just _happened_. I don't even know how to describe it."

"Does she fight like Widowmaker?"

"Wish she did, that'd explain a lot." She poked around at one of her shirts, shaking it out a bit. "But it's not just fighting, yeh? After, in Latvia, we're eating together and laughing it up like best mates at th' pub, and it just feels so _nice_. And back here, we're..." - she decided to skip detailing their sleeping arrangements, and just ran her hands through her hair. "It's like there's _no work_ to bein'... nnnnngh!" She stopped, and let out a big huff of breath. "I shouldn't like her. I know that. I really _shouldn't_. She's an entire stack of crazycakes covered in murdersauce. But... I do. I really do."

Winston chuffed, sympathetically. "And you wonder if that's Moira's work?"

Lena nodded, reluctantly. "Em's said the same things about me, and... kind of wondered that too. Only, y'know, the other 'way 'round."

"She expressed those doubts herself - in words?" _I'm surprised about that even more than the rest,_ he thought, _most of all that she'd share that suspicion with you..._

"Yeh. She rang up her aunt about it this morning. O'Deorain denies she did anything, of course - says it's about how we got the same things done to our nervous systems, so all our little social movements match better now, so of course we get on, so blah blah blah algorithms, blah blah blah science."

Winston couldn't stop himself from a small bit of a chortle, but shook his head, negatively. "That strikes me as both something very much like she'd say - and complete bunk. There's more to friendship than that."

"Yeh," nodded Tracer. "I think so too."

"But you do move differently, now. You have since you came back the first time."

"Believe me, luv, I know."

"You seem used to it."

"Oh, it's worse than that, luv - I like it. It's fun. Here, watch this." She picked up a set of pens from the holder in the centre of the table, and spun them all, on their long axes, on her fingertips, adding speed with her thumbs, and then started juggling them, moving them from fingertip to fingertip, apparently without effort. "If this whole Overwatch thing doesn't work out, I could be a magician!"

The scientist laughed. "The dice trick is more impressive, if you want an honest review. At least, to me. But I'll reconsider if you add fire to the routine."

"Is ink flammable? Might be fun!" Lena bounced all the pens onto the tabletop, where they formed a large letter T and an exclamation point. "T-racer the Magnificent!" she said, before leaning back and looking up at the ceiling, spinning back and forth a little in her chair. "Maybe I'm overthinkin' it. Maybe we'd've just got on like this anyway, if we'd just met, and she wasn't with Talon, and what's goin' on just balances that out. Maybe it's just that simple."

"I wish I knew," said her best friend.

"I wish I did too, luv. I wish I did too."

\-----

"Damn," Widowmaker said, looking through her bag, having settled in to the small chartered flyer's second row of seats, between Tracer and Oilliphéist.

Tracer fiddled with the windowshade, wanting to open it, but knowing not to until they were off the ground and out of camera range. "What's wrong, love?"

"Nothing important. I forgot my novel, that's all."

"That French thing you started last night?" asked Oilliphéist. "I thought that was an ebook."

"I bought a physical copy to bring along. I've been... revisiting some of Amélie's choices in literature, as of late."

"Really?" asked Emily. "That's new."

The senior assassin shrugged. "I find I react differently than she did - but not always. Not completely. Some of it... I even find I like."

"Expandin' your horizons, a bit?" Lena asked.

"I like the violent ones," she said, pointedly.

"But not much. Gotcha."

Emily hummed, sympathetically. "I've just started something myself - it's in English, but you can read it with me, if you'd like."

"New Alloys in Firearms Production Monthly?" asked Lena. "Latest issue?"

"Quite probably," Danielle smirked.

"Oh, no, we're not starting that," Emily insisted. "No," she smirked, "I'm saving that for my alone time."

"...there's actually a...?"

"She is joking, cherie."

"If there were, I'd subscribe to it."

"Quiet, the lot of you," came Moira's voice, from the row ahead. "Honestly, you're like children. I've got a lot of work to do before we reach São Paulo, and I'd like not to be distracted."

"Okay, _mom_ ," Tracer snarked, rolling her eyes. But she did quiet down, as the craft took off and she could open the shades, looking out into the not-so-dark night.

 _I wish I was in the pilot's seat_ , she thought, as the craft gained elevation. _View's even better when you can see where you're goin'._

\-----

> `Hey, Chica, long time no see|`

The words appeared on Widowmaker's PADD, next to the novel she'd been reading, a French classic from the previous century, spelling themselves out slowly, but at an exactingly specific rate, as if being played back, rather than typed.

> `Sorry I didn't just put something in one of your usual drops, but I wanted to make sure you'd see this whether you checked or not. I'm wheedling this in through some _very_ obscure side-channel bullshit, so good luck tracing it, Oasis secret police.`
> 
> `Anyway, something's going on, and I don't know what, but I do know Edgelord has gone about six more kinds of silent and brooding in the last couple of days, and I'm pretty sure it has to have something to do with you, Two-Tone, and your girlfriend. Girlfriends. Whatever. It's not so much what he's saying, but who he's killing, you know?`
> 
> `(Are your girlfriends girlfriends with each other, too? You have to tell me, later. Also, how do you find the time?)`
> 
> `So yeah, things are getting pretty scary around the home town. I don't know what you're planning, I don't know what Grumpy's planning, none of my usual sources are talking to me, I'm freaking out because it feels like something big is about to happen and I don't know what, and that shit is never, ever good. The most relevant thing I've found is that Two-Tone had some serious side-project in progress until her funding started getting yanked around about a year or so ago, and right about then, she started getting super extra paranoid in new ways.`
> 
> `Whatever it was, though - not all of it got flatlined. Consider yourself warned about that. She's been getting orders from some of the same suppliers, and money is still moving too, just... less. Don't know what it is, she knows about me and keeps absolutely nothing online - at least, nothing I can reach, and believe me, I've tried - I just know it's some sort of really major project. I'll put what I have in the usual drop.`
> 
> `But that's all I got. After this, I'm doing what I do best - surviving. So I'm laying low, getting the fuck out of dodge, going to ground, pick one, or maybe several, not sure. I'll try to keep an ear out if you need help, but can't make any promises... I just wanted to let you know what was happening first.`
> 
> `Be careful, chica. I like you, okay? You're weird, but I like you. I always have. I hope you survive... whatever this is. If you do, look me up in the aftermath, okay?`
> 
> `Your favourite chupacabra`
> 
> `- S.`

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 16 - the next chapter - may take a little longer than usual, due to...
> 
> ...okay, basically, I kind of accidentally gave myself a present in an earlier chapter, in the form of an opportunity to write a later chapter a particular way. That opportunity has just shown up, and I'm takin' it. (No, this is not the climax of the story, we're several chapters away from that.) It's... kind of a set piece. Hopefully that'll make sense when you read it. :D


	16. Sanjay and Kishori

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Special thanks to [Sitriga](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Sitriga/pseuds/Sitriga) for both supplying and validating information about São Paulo, Brazil.]

The brown-eyed woman raised her right eyebrow. "Oxton."

"Last name only? A bit formal for a waitress, don't you think?"

" _Lena_ Oxton," replied said waitress in her formal black-and-whites, with a bit of a nod. "Mum." Her curly walnut hair - a reasonably convincing wig - bobbed a little with the rest of her head.

"Well then, _Lena_ ," said the older woman in her dark business suit - a bit out of place in the grandstand, but layered with enough of the right kind of jewellery to make it up - "why don't you be a good girl and see what you can do about a better version of this." She handed over a lightly-sampled vodka martini, which the waitress took and gracefully placed atop her tray. "I'll be out on the terrace - I'm sure you can find me."

"Right away, mum."

The woman turned back to her colleagues as Tracer slid away, through the crowd, drink on a small tray. "Any sign of 'em yet?" she subvocalised over comms hidden in her ear.

"Non, ma chérie," came Widowmaker's reply from the roof of the recently-rebuilt Maternity Hospital, less than a kilometre south. "If they're outside, I do not have them."

"They're here, somewhere. I've spotted the driver," came Oilliphéist's voice, from atop a fully-rented B&B on the hill to the northwest. "No sign of targets yet, though."

Trader handed the glass over to the Canadian bartender working with the English-speaking waiters. "She says she wants a 'better' one," and the mixologist nodded. "I saw. More vodka?"

"Given how she's been drinkin'? Probably."

"Gimmie a sec, there's a rush." She dumped the glass and queued a double as Tracer turned around and leaned back against the end the bar, coolly surveying the £11,000-a-seat crowd, a mix of celebrities, the 'rich,' and the actually-rich, some few actively caring about the Brazil Grand Prix - those, mostly out in the heat of the pavilion overlooking the track and pits - mixing with a larger number there more to party on their parents' money. The rest hustled and toadied, currying favour with all of the above.

 _All these bloody 'luxury grandstands' look the same to me_ , Lena thought, still scanning the glittering crowd, as her supervisor stepped up with tray full of cocktails. "Oxton, do a circuit. I'll take care of the outdoor delivery."

"Gotcha," she said, looking over the drinks. _Damn_ , she thought. _No mojito._ As her supervisor vanished with the double martini, she leaned back to the bar. "Chloe, priority mix me a mojito for this tray? Please?"

"Why?"

"I've had a bloke on me for one, he's really annoying." A small lie, but only a small one, and she absolutely wouldn't do a circuit without Sanjay Korpal's favourite drink. "Heavy on the mint."

"Right."

"I have him," came Emily's voice in Lena's ear. "Oh, better - I have them _both_."

"Where?" breathed Widowmaker.

"Behind too much glass. Tracer, second tier, third window from the north."

Lena smiled at Chloe as she added the drink to her tray, and stepped back from the bar. "Thanks," she said, to both the bartender and her counterparts. "On my way."

\-----

"I really don't know what we're going to do about this," Kishori said, as quietly as could be said as the F1 automobiles roared by, outside the windows. "The board is on lockdown, neither of us know why - and you're sitting here watching noisy antiques being driven around in circles."

Sanjay smirked, the right side of his mouth twitching up, as he watched the action on the track, actually interested despite himself. He wasn't sure what he liked about it - the noise, the smell, the chaos, everything so utterly unlike everything Vishkar stood for, at least, in theory.

"Reyes has always been volatile," he replied, eyes not leaving the cars tearing their way down the track. "This is not the first time his paranoia has run away with him." 

"Half my agents have gone quiet. I don't think this is paranoia."

Sanjay shrugged, having seen it all before, when Akande went to prison. "I don't pretend nothing is going on. I just know the best way not to be involved is... not to get involved. It will blow over." He wondered whether what really kept him on edge was the possibility of a fiery crash and explosion. Even the qualifiers - like the race in front of him - were more than their fair share of dangerous, and his pulse quickened a little as two cars bumped tires during an attempt to pass.

"Boisson, madame? Boisson, monsieur?" A brown-eyed waitress with curly walnut hair and a fleet of cocktails stepped to the small serving table between and behind the box seats, and Sanjay looked back at the tray. "I don't suppose you..."

"English? Of course, my apologies," Tracer said in her carefully-coached French accent. "Cocktails, sir? Madame?"

"Water," said the older woman. "If you have it."

"Of course, madame." She reached forward and across, her hand on the back of the woman's chair, and placed a small cocktail napkin on the table, along with iced water. The small tracking device attached to her collar was as complimentary as the drinks, of course.

"You wouldn't have a... oh, is that a mojito?"

"Yes, sir. But if there is something specific, I would of course be happy to fetch..."

"No, I'll take that." He reached and leaned over to grab it himself, and Lena insured the tray toppled in a way that made it clearly his fault, the drinks cascading into their chairs.

"Oh, for... Sanjay!" Kishori glared at the other Talon board member, as she dodged alcohol, extracting herself from her seat.

"Monsieur, madame, I am so sorry, it is entirely my fault! Please, allow me..." She dabbed carefully with a large cloth napkin, leaning forward as she had with his viewing companion, tracker number two attached as had been tracker one. "It appears that for the most part the... damage is to the chairs. I will summon cleaning staff at once. Would you like me to bring your drinks to your outdoor box?"

"That," Sanjay said, embarrassed, "might be the best idea. Kishori?"

"My seat is soaked, thank you - I'll be outside." She picked up her glass. "But I'll take my own water."

"Very good, madame. Monsieur?"

"Just get me another goddamned mojito," he snapped.

"Vous avez renversé de la vodka sur, ah, I, there is a bit of vodka on your sleeve, here, I have remover..."

"He's fine," Kishori interjected. "Let's go, before you embarrass yourself any further."

"I will bring your replacement drink to you. Would you like an escort to the outdoor grandstand?"

"No," he snapped. "I know where it is. Extra mint."

"Very good, sir," she smiled contritely and bowed a bit, backing away. "I will bring you your drinks presently."

She watched from the bar - cleaning staff already alerted, replacement mojito queued - as the two Talon board members fussed a bit more at themselves, and at each other, before picking up and heading towards the terrace. "Packages en route," she subvocalised. "Trackers," _not tracers_ , she thought, amused at herself, "in place."

"Your accent has improved," Widowmaker said, into her ear. "But you would not fool a native French speaker."

"Yeh, yeh," she subvocalised. "Good thing they're from India, innit. You got 'em?"

"Signals are clear and locked..." said the Widowmaker. "Movement tracking verified. Both trackers confirmed live and functioning."

"Nice work, luv. How much vodka you dump on him? He won't change before going out to the afterparties tonight, will he?"

"Nah - he'll be fine. Everything else ready?"

"We can go as soon as you slip away."

"Gotta get 'em their drinks first," Lena smirked. "Wouldn't want 'em t'go thirsty."

"'course not," Oilliphéist snickered.

"Very well. I will watch for your departure at the gate."

"See y'soon."

\-----

_[São Paulo Yacht Club, some hours later]_

"I'm not going to waste any more time with this stupidity," Kishori snapped. "The cars are bad enough, now you want to go boat racing?"

"I don't expect you to come along for the ride. You're perfectly welcome to stay inside and be grumpy at potential backers."

"You promised ... ah," she dropped a small hologrammatic card, made a frustrated noise, picked it back up, and glared at it. Even at a distance, Tracer could clearly see the yacht club's logo. "This nonsense is a complete waste of my time. I am leaving."

 _Bugger all_ , thought Tracer, now all in black with the wig long gone, backing the slightest bit away as Sanjay ran after his ally. "You hear that, luvs?" she asked, over comms. "She's leaving early. Should I track 'er?"

"No - stay with Korpal," the Widowmaker replied from her position in Parque Guarapiranga, across the water, but with an excellent view of the club's boat launch. "Oilliphéist, do you have her?"

"Not yet, but I certainly will," replied her counterpart, chuckling, from the playfields to the south.

"Are you _tracking_ her?" clarified Widowmaker, dryly.

"Tracking signal clear and strong," Oilliphéist confirmed. "Mind if I have some fun? Different methods would cloudy the picture..."

"I cannot imagine you doing anything less. Go."

Tracer worried a bit at the idea of Emily letting herself have _fun_. "Don't let's make a mess, Oilliphést."

"Oh, Tracer, don't worry. I'll be careful."

"I don't mean, that, I mean, just..." She felt conflict rising inside her as opportunities began to realise themselves. "...don't draw it out."

"What do you... oh!" She heard a bit of laughter over the comms. "Don't worry! I'm not going to torture her - though it's not like she hasn't directed her own fair share of _that_. No, no, I'm just going to make it... interesting! For me. It's not as much fun without a challenge, is it?"

"Ricochet shot?" asked the senior assassin.

"Maybe! But we'll see. I'll improvise."

"As long as she goes down," Widowmaker stressed.

"I'm on _mission_ , sweet. She'll go down."

"Perfect."

"I don't care!" Sanjay shouted, regaining Tracer's attention. "Just... send the car back to pick me up when you're done." Lena watched as he waved his arm after Kishori, frustration clear in the motion, before turning back towards the yacht club, where he presented an invitation to the tuxedoed man at the door.

"Don't suppose we've got one of those holograms?"

"I'm afraid not, cherie."

"Right. Long 'way 'round it is."

"Be careful not to wake the capybaras on the beach."

"I'll do my best, love."

\-----

Tracer made her way all but silently through the wetlands to the club's south, dance music and boat engines masking her approach. _Huh. Didn't think he was the thrill-seeking type_ , she thought, as she watched Korpal walk towards the boat launch. _Is he actually going t' get in one of those?_

As it turned out, he was not. Instead, he presented a small teleporter-like device, which projected a hardlight foil racer, similar in size and shape to the two traditional boats already in the water. She could see him grin and nod at other two pilots, who argued with him noisily, one in Portuguese, the other in Mandarin.

"Please tell me you're gettin' some of this," she said, quietly, in comms.

"I have a little of the Portuguese - I believe they're saying he cannot be an entrant, but he may demonstrate his, I think, toy?" She snorted. "From their tone, they have decided he is... gauche, I think."

Tracer smirked, but kept it quiet. "Looks like a closed cowl from here. Can you shoot through that?"

"Almost certainly, though it is difficult to be sure, with hardlight. It would be better if I could get him on the water, without so many close witnesses. He may have many enemies in this city, but it is still worth complicating any investigation, if we... ah, look."

"Yeh, I see it." Korpal guided his craft into the water, climbed aboard, the ship's cockpit sealing itself as he settled into the pilot's seat. He rolled the little boat, foils retracted, demonstrating that he could, and gunned the quiet - but not excessively quiet - engine. The Portuguese-speaking woman made a disgusted noise and walked away, back towards the club, but the other man laughed, jogged over to his racer, jumped in, and cast off.

The two boats roared towards deeper water, and the glittering crowd in the catering tent turned to look at the two sleek ships slicing through deeper water, matching manoeuvres one to one, and Tracer grinned, wickedly.

"...I've got an idea," she said, and, carefully but almost impossibly quickly, made her way to the second launch.

"I... hm, yes. You can...?"

"I can pilot anything, love," she replied, slipping into the Portuguese racer and casting off, following the first pair. "I think it's time for a boating accident."

\-----

_I knew she couldn't resist_ , Sanjay thought, grinning, as he saw the third racer, with its São Paulo Yacht Club flag, charging up from behind. _Too much pride involved - so easy to manipulate_. He gunned the hardlight engine, making it roar - an illusion, of course, the engine was all but silent, but appearances matter - and the São Paulo boat responded in kind, foils out, coming up on his port side, riding very, very close - and bumping, hard, hull to hull.

 _Oooh, playing rough? I like it,_ he thought, grinning and bumping back, before spinning round, already past the park, heading northeast, both carbon-fibre craft slower than his 'round the turn.

 _I'm faster in the straights_ , Lena thought, calculating. _He's got the edge in manoeuvrability, but I'm faster._ As she caught up, she shoved him west, port flank against starboard, hard. The Shanghai craft caught up as well, getting into the game, standing off just a bit before gunning past them on the starboard side, the pilot apparently quite happy to let the other two slow each other down. He reached the third buoy in the clear lead, and spun tightly and precisely around it, back down the temporary racing lane, off again before the other two could even get 'round.

"Enjoying yourself, cherie?" came Widowmaker's voice over comms.

"Honestly?" She grinned like a madwoman. "Yeh. I am. This is fun. Think you can do something about the SYC's steering?"

"I believe I can damage the starboard foil. If you could make that engine roar again..."

She did, and there was a little bit of an extra bang, but nothing that sounded like a gunshot, and the Shanghai Yacht Club-flagged craft slowed, veering just a little, slowing to compensate. The Vishkar and São Paulo craft closed, quickly, then passed, as the Shanghai pilot veered off the course, heading back towards the launch.

"I like _that_ ," Tracer said. "Ready for your shot?"

"I am, as always, ready."

"I'm gonna ram 'im again. See if you can nick his foil at about the same place?"

"I understand." As they rounded the southern buoy again, Tracer slammed her ship hard into Sanjay's hardlight craft, sending it west, towards the park, where Widowmaker waited, and fired, and Korpal's craft veered the slightest bit further to port, almost exactly at the same point.

 _He bhagavaan!_ , thought Sanjay, as his craft shook, and he moved to reset the foil. _Something's in the water. Or is it that damned..._

"Well, guess that's answered. I'm gonna hit 'im again. You ready?"

"Of course," the assassin purred, as Tracer threw her ship's prow directly into the Vishkar foils. Sanjay's ship flipped, rolling, and as he panicked, Widowmaker sighted, targeted, and fired, the hardlight canopy dissolving like so much candy floss in the water, and Sanjay Korpal's head with it.

"Perfect," she purred into comms, as Lena spun her craft around.

"I think we made a bit of a splash tonight, don't you?"

Widowmaker chuckled, darkly. "Agreed."

"Care to shoot this one's engine? It's combustible..."

"Acknowledged," she said, firing, seeing the craft catch fire, slowing, as light flashed from the cockpit and then beside her, copper eyes now glinting in what would be the darkness. "Oilliphéist, target one down. Check in."

"Oooooh, I saw," came Emily's voice, liquid, thick with ecstasy. "Beautiful. That was lovely work, hon. You too, Tracer - gorgeous."

"Thanks," Lena said, still grinning, for just a moment, before not. "I... I..." she shook her head. "Uh. How's your... target?"

"Oh, she's taken care of. A mugging gone bad, I'm afraid. The area around the track is awfully sketchy, and always has been... really, she shouldn't've gone back there on her own like that."

Emergency sirens blared in the distance, as the burning SPYC craft drifted, sinking, following the Vishkar boat underwater. "We should go," said Widowmaker, sternly. "Rendezvous point one, immediately, yes?"

"On my way. This has been the best date. I'm so happy."

Tracer's smile returned, as she replied. “Yeh. See you soon.”


	17. morning, midday, afternoon, night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have changed the tags.
> 
> Previously, this story had the "hurt no comfort" tag attached, but that was always a bit of a caution, because I didn't want anyone going in without warnings that this is in many ways not a happy story. But having written the ending, and the coda, I have been told: while it is not a happy story, there is too much comfort - important comfort - in amongst the hurt, and so, I have removed the tag.

Oilliphéist rolled over in her bed, alone. She could sleep, if she really pushed herself into it, and it would be adequate sleep - but that's all it would be, and she wanted better.

She missed Widowmaker's presence. She missed her counterpart, her companion, her other self, and having been apart for so long, to have to split time like this... she didn't like it.

She wasn't even mad at Tracer. Who wouldn't want to be next to _her?_ How could anyone _not_ want that? Lena just had the good sense to go for it, that's all. Emily smiled a little as she thought about that, and rolled over again.

_She's already become everything I'd hoped she'd be_ , the assassin mused, the boat duel a few nights before flashing across her mind, _and well on her way to who she **could** be, without even any real remaking._ She took a long breath. _I can't wait 'till we really all get to fight together properly, it makes me want to..._

She shivered and then laughed to herself, softly, thinking of the night after São Paulo, when she and Lena both decided to entertain their common lover, suddenly falling on each other as well, ravenously, not love, just need, just lust, but none the less so satisfying for it...

_I know what I want,_ she realised. _I didn't mind... so... maybe she won't, either._

All but silently she rose out of bed, crossed the hall, and entered Tracer's bedroom in the temporary apartment that already felt so very much like home. Lena had left the door open, as she was wont to do, and Emily knew already that somehow, none of them set of each other's defences, not as long as they were calm and quiet, and she was rewarded with the view of her spider holding her pet, big spoon and little spoon, calm, at peace - a small hold of serenity in the middle of a mad world.

Ever so carefully, she stepped over and onto the bed, under the covers, nuzzling against the back of Widowmaker's neck, and her lover rolled, still mostly asleep, onto her back, nuzzling into Oilliphéist's hair, breathing in reflexively, and stilled again, at peace.

And Emily slept deep, and well.

Some hours later, Lena woke, slowly, eyes still mostly closed, sun not yet risen, but the first hints of morning light just peeking their way past the blinds. She opened her eyes the slightest bit more, then blinked, seeing Emily across from her, on Danielle's right, asleep.

Her eyebrows furrowed for a second as she wordlessly took the sight in, unalarmed but briefly wondering if maybe this is why she was awake before either of the others, for once. She bit her lower lip and nodded, just the tiniest bit, an unvoiced assent, a silent _yes_ , before closing her eyes again and going back to sleep.

An hour later, Lena woke again, the room a little brighter, Emily stirring, her eyelashes fluttering open, as Lena's eyes opened as well, copper meeting silver, halfway.

"Hiya," Lena said, softly - not a challenge, not even a question, just a greeting, with a a small but genuine smile.

"Hey," whispered Emily, smiling in return. "G'morning."

"G'morning." Lena reached over, gently and without active thought, and ran her hand through Oilliphéist's hair. Emily's eyes closed again and she breathed out, a long, slow exhalation of pleasure. She nuzzled gently into Tracer's hand, the cool touch of her lips soothing against the teleporter's palm, and together, they waited for their beloved to awaken, before - again, together - they would face the day.

\-----

Hana Song frowned across visual comms, having read Tracer's mission report overnight. "This is _not_ 'protecting Widowmaker,' Lena. This isn't being 'backup.'"

"I seem t'recall sayin' from the start it wouldn't be just that," Lena retorted, irritation in her voice.

Morrison nodded his agreement with the MEKA pilot. "You weren't supposed to take the lead."

Song scowled, encouraged to hold her ground. "You're supposed to be an observer and maybe support, not DPS."

"I think it sounds pretty durn good," McCree interjected. "Nice improvisation, good use of the landscape..."

"Thanks, luv," Tracer said, with a little grin and salute.

"That's exactly what I _don't_ like about it," Morrison snapped, as Lena leaned back, frowning, across the table, with one of her two counterparts, the other, outside, in the next room, waiting. "You seem awfully happy about having killed this man."

"Kinda the point, wannit? I'm RAF. You see a way to complete a mission safely, with no risk to civilian life - you take it."

"Yeah. You do. But..."

"I didn't hear you complaining about those Omnic troopers."

"Hardly the same thing."

"Exactly the same thing."

"They were in violation of treaty - and they attacked _you_ ," Song pointed out.

Lena's mouth twisted a little bit between sadness and defiance. "Just as dead either way."

Jack nodded, "That's the first hint of regret I've seen out of you for any of this."

"Don't regret it, luv. None of it. Unless Mei's data's changed..."

The climate scientist looked up. "It has not," she said, wishing very much that it had.

Lena nodded, gratefully. "...then we don't have much choice, do we?"

"Lena, I'm..." Soldier: 76 rubbed the bridge of his nose, high, between his eyes, "I'm not angry. I'm _worried_ about you."

"Worried I don't know what I'm doin'? Worried I'm too good at it? Worried I'm taking that Blackwatch patch too serious?"

Morrison put his hands together, and his elbows on the conference table, and leaned forward, eyes closed. "I've killed a lot of people, Lena. A whole lot of people. Too many."

Tracer paused, and frowned a little, but not angrily.

"I've been glad I did it. I've been convinced it was the right thing - the necessary thing - and for the most part, my conscience is pretty clear." He leaned back, eyes open again, looking at Tracer's copper eyes. "But I've never enjoyed doing it. It's never been... fun."

Oxton nodded, chewing for a moment on her upper lip, as Danielle smirked dismissively beside her. _Your emotions make you vulnerable_ , echoed the remnants of her conditioning, as she mentally batted it aside.

"Don't cross that line, Lena. Reyes did. Ogundimu did. I came... closer than I want to admit."

"I remind you," said the Widowmaker, "that I am the one who took that particular shot."

"And enjoyed it, I bet," Hana said.

"It was exquisite," replied the assassin, her voice warm. "Perfect."

The small smile Lena flashed her lover made Winston flinch just a little, and he reached across the table and took Tracer's hand. "I... Lena... don't lose yourself, okay? That's all we're talking about. We are working with some..." she hesitated a moment, looking at the Widowmaker, who arched an eyebrow amusedly, "...pretty frightening people, and doing some pretty questionable things. Just don't forget who you really are."

Widowmaker chortled at the softened word choice, but Tracer smiled. "Aw, luv - you know better than that." She squeezed Winston's hand, a wistful expression on her face. "There'll be time to sort all that out soon. Get this stashed away, then afterwards... anybody know a good therapist?" she joked.

"Yes," nodded the Ecopoint survivor. "I do."

_Ouch_ , Lena thought. "Sorry, Mei, didn't think about that..."

"Oh, it's okay. I'm sure she will accept you as a referral. And she follows very strict medical privacy rules."

Tracer snorted a short laugh. "Also didn't mean it literally, luv, but - if it'll make you feel better, I'll give her a call once all's said and done."

"You could even do it before that. I will call her today, to let her know," she replied.

Winston nodded. "I think that would be a very good idea."

Lena rolled her eyes. "Really?"

"Yes," said Winston, firmly.

Lena smirked a little. "All right, big guy. Fine. I'll give her a ring tomorrow. Happy?"

"Not really," he said, "But it's a start. Thank you."

"When's the next mission?" Morrison asked, a hint of reluctance in his voice.

"A few days. Don't know the details yet. But now we've reached the board, everything's gonna move quickly."

"Good," nodded the former Strike Commander.

"Yeah," echoed Hana Song. "This sooner this is over, the better."

[An hour later]

"I know they mean well, but cor blimey, that was grating," Tracer complained, over lunch - curry on chips, of course, courtesy the only English takeaway in the city, picked up and taken home. She leaned back, into the sunbeam shining through the western window.

"They didn't appreciate your work?" Oilliphéist said, poking at a reasonably convincing Cornish pasty, from the same location. "Philistines. I thought it was bloody marvellous. You looked brilliant out there."

"Aw." She smiled, a little, sipping from her water. "Thanks."

"So - y'gonna do it?"

"Do wot?"

"Call that therapist," Emily reminded.

"Right, that." Lena shrugged. "I suppose. No harm in it, yeh?"

"Not the most fun people in the world, therapists," Emily replied. "But it's up to you."

"I wasn't going to bring this up," the Widowmaker added, amused, spreading cheese across another piece of baguette. "But I must say, their reactions... I still enjoy being - how should I put it... I enjoy being..." she waved her knife around, a pointless motion, "...a little bit feared? Perhaps you should consider the value in it."

Tracer laughed, despite herself. "Mei did jump a bit every time you said something, didn't she? Kinda funny. But... you're gonna have t'let that go, love, leastways within Overwatch. S'bad for teamwork." She picked up another chip, and threw it into her mouth.

"But not in public!" Oilliphéist insisted, with a grin. "You're a legend, sweet - you've got a reputation to maintain! And, of course, scared people don't aim so well."

"I know," the spider replied, smiling wickedly. "Believe me - I _know_."

\-----

Angela Ziegler rubbed her eyes, or, at least, around them - being a doctor, she knew better than to rub them directly. _This is brilliant work. But so complex._

She cycled through sets of responses, tracking Lena's enhanced nerves through her body. _So much interconnection, and yet, still so fast. I can't imagine how much faster it'd be if all this wasn't..._

She blinked - _Oh!_ \- as the pieces fell together, the realisation tingling down her spine. _Oh, this is brilliant, why do you have to be on the wrong side of everything, Moira? This is... it makes a self-stabilising cycle! Of course! And every perturbation is felt almost instantly across the whole system, because each one upsets the entire cycle, so reflex actions and analysis are also distributed, shared..._

"Ahhhhh," she breathed, leaning back in her chair. "Moira... you are a genius."

"You found something?" asked Dr. Ngcobo, her lab's peripheral nervous system specialist.

Ziegler nodded. "I've figured out the basic operating structure. It's... oh, it is very good. This is... so clever. It is breathtaking."

Knowing, now, how it worked, she could filter data to show the system in action, and did, both in physicality and abstraction. "Do you see, do you see, the stimulus response? How it's shared, spread across the entire structure?"

"That is astounding," he replied, in all seriousness. "There's... not even really a periphery anymore, it's so integrated - at least, on this level. All of this is unlike anything I've ever studied."

"Well," she said, cheerfully, smiling. "I think I know where to start, then - right here."

"Good a place as any."

Angela leaned over in her chair, pulling up the armrest, watching the abstracted system move in time with the physical system, replaying the session from the beginning, through the new view, seeing reactions spread, so quickly, so cleanly, cycles building upon cycles, forming curves, settling back down, stabilising themselves.

_It's beautiful_ , she thought, as they watched the cycles form and dissipate. _Genuinely, just... beautiful._

"May I add another layer of abstraction?" Dr. Ngcobo asked. "There's a differentiation function that's useful, sometimes, when studying self-stabilising feedback systems like this. It was developed for studying vertigo problems, but I think it might..."

"Please - do!" replied Dr. Ziegler, and he did, on the station next to hers, and they brought the three displays together. The third display formed a ring that rotated in three dimensions as Lena's nervous system reacted to stimulus. She started the replay over, watching the ring vibrate, shimmer, moving slowly around its axes.

"It's memorising," she said, aloud, as they watched the abstractions play out. 

_Huh_ , she thought, as the ring reacted sharply to one particular stimulus, throwing itself sharply along one axis, before drifting back, and a little past, where it had been before. "...I don't know this particular filter... what was that?"

Dr. Ngcobo leaned in, confused, and replayed that segment of data, watching more closely. It only showed up in the second abstraction layer - at least, as an obvious phenomenon. He stood up, and scratched the back of his head. "That is very strange. My first guess would be that the filter was not designed for this sort of application, and it is just noise. But if it is not that... then..." He put his left hand to his mouth, playing with his lower lip, "...I have absolutely no idea. What's the stimulus?"

"Already bringing it up." She played the short audio track - a snippet of traditional song in Irish Gaelic - in synchronisation with the collected data, watching the ring react when the singer hit her low notes, and she frowned.

"I'm not getting it," said the specialist. "It's just singing. What is that language?"

"Gaelic. And I'm not sure I get it either," replied the head research scientist, "but I have some ideas that I do not like. Not one little bit."

\-----

"The police have ruled Korpal's death an accident, and Deshmukh's, a murder. They're looking for a mugger, but..."

"You've got to be kidding me," Reyes growled in his deepest hiss.

"I'm just relaying the police reports," the Talon field operative replied. "Don't kill the messenger."

"They don't know who was piloting the Brazilian boat and there's no second body and they're still calling it an _accident?_ "

Across comms, the agent shrugged. "Everybody knows Sanjay had a lot of enemies in São Paulo, but nobody wants an assassination on record at the Grand Prix, so..."

"So everyone involved has reasons to keep this quiet. I just didn't expect they'd be so blatant about it." He covered his eyes with his right hand, and rubbing his temples for a moment, before speaking again.

"Get me every piece of video and every still image with a face that you can find from that party. Particularly of the boat launch, but cover the whole area. Also, throw in whatever you can find from outside, nearby, starting about an hour before."

"Yes, sir."

"And get me anything and everything you can from inside the Paddock Club the previous two days. Whoever did this probably cased them in advance, and we'll start there."

"Sir. I'll forward material to the facial recognition database as I get it."

"Copies also to me directly."

"Acknowledged."

"Reaper out," he said, cutting the channel.

Photographs began arriving in under a minute, and the former head of Blackwatch sat down in his chair and began flipping through them, one at a time, sorting the known from the unknown in his head, looking for faces, for body shapes, or any part of anyone he might possibly know.

_You're in here somewhere, pilot_ , he thought, leaning back as pictures flickered by. _And I **will** find you._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're looking for a physical model, Dr. Ngcobo is this AU's concept-art Mercy.


	18. forgetting the old days

"Oh, I know this," Lena said from inside the sensory isolation chamber, as the song played. "You used it last time, too."

"You know it?" Angela asked by microphone, watching peripheral nervous system reactions in real time. Dr. Ngcobo, also watching by remote, noted that the ring didn't shift, but Lena talked through it, so of course it didn't. He queued the sample for replay again, later.

"Yeh. Always have."

"That's interesting," Dr. Ziegler replied, pausing the stimulus set. "It's a fairly obscure traditional tune, a lullaby - how do you know it?"

Lena shrugged, mostly relaxed and floating in the dark. "Just do, that's all. Makes me think of my mum."

"You... I did not think you remembered your mother."

"Don't, love. Pop, either, not really. But, y'know..." she waved her hands around a little in the small space. "Y'have impressions, doncha? Ideas? I do."

_She's never mentioned this before_ , Angela thought, _but when has there ever been cause? I should check her psychological profiles._ Aloud, she replied, "I suppose one may well. I'm going to repeat it, later - when you hear it again, I'd like you not to talk. Let your body react to it, but nothing else. Is that all right?"

"'Course it is. I like it - particularly the tune, yah?" A little 'heh' came over the speakers. "Shame the singer sounds like, well, you know. _Her._ "

"...Moira? Does she? I didn't notice."

"T'me she does. Particularly in the low notes."

_Well,_ Angela thought, _**that's** interesting_. She added two more, similar snippets she had identified in advance to the queue, randomly interspersed. _Let's see if that repeats, as well._

Oilliphéist and Widowmaker watched from behind glass, sitting in a viewing room, able to see the chamber and both doctors at work, and hear them as well. Lena had insisted on that in the strongest of terms, and Angela did not push back, but certainly noted it for discussion later.

Danielle considered what she'd heard. "Did... that sound like Dr. O'Deorain to you?"

Emily snorted. "Aunt Moira can't carry a tune in a bucket. But if she could - maybe, a little?" She smiled, calm but deeply aware and ready, her arm around her lover's shoulder. "I really don't know what Ziegler's chasing, here."

"Perhaps some sort of keyword, some sort of..." She tapped the armrest of the chair. "Some sort of activation phrase?"

"What, like in those old movies?" Emily laughed, a little. "Doesn't work that way. Even I know that." 

"Doesn't it?" the Widowmaker asked, one eyebrow raised. "I received a 'go' code."

"You were already all there, sweet. I know, I was on the team."

"My first kill," the senior assassin sighed. "And I felt nothing at all."

"I'm sorry for that. The doctor and I both wanted it to be different for you, but..." She shook her head. "That... reminds me... of something. What... was it... oh!" She sat up straighter, silver eyes bright. "In your office at the chateau, you have a framed picture from Amélie and Gérard's wedding. It's the two of them cutting the cake."

Danielle blinked, surprised, something not easily done to the spider, and she looked directly at her counterpart. "...I do? Really?"

Emily nodded. "Yes! It's on the bookshelves, to the left of the desk. I was so confused. Why?"

"I..." She shook her head. "I suppose it was already there, and I never thought to throw it away," she replied, not as entirely convinced of that as she wanted to be. "I imagine you smashed it?"

Emily chuckled. "'Course not, sweet. It's yours! Why would I do that?"

"Because you hated him! Fiercely. I may not have felt anything yet, and I know not to entirely trust my own memories, there have been too many changes, but... I still remember how you hugged me when I returned. How happy you were that he was dead." She gave the other woman a soft smile. "That... I did feel. Just a little."

"Aw. Love you too, pet. And I remember that. But it's all water under the bridge, these days." She grinned, freely. "He's gone, you're here, we're together, I'm..." she hugged herself, and shivered a little with pleasure, "...oh, it's hard to describe, but I feel so... _complete_ , at last."

She looked back through the window, keeping an ear out for any additional conversation from the doctors on the other side of the glass. "I really think she's starting to settle in, too. I was thinking about it a couple of nights ago, I thought it'd be such a struggle, but... no. She's become a brilliant weapon."

"She already was," Widowmaker noted, a little quirk up at the side of her mouth. "That's what got my attention at the start."

"And so easy to like! I told her back at Auntie's place that I'd never kill her, because you love her, but..." she smiled broadly, "I don't even want to!"

"I like our new sleeping arrangements," the spider said, quietly, gaze focused on the chamber.

"So do I," replied her beloved.

"We should talk more seriously about the future, you realise. Not here, of course, but..."

Oilliphéist nodded, agreeing. "Yes. I love Aunt Moira, but..." A bit of a grimace. "She's a tricky one. We'll have to stay a couple of steps ahead of her if we can, for all of our sakes."

Danielle reached over and took Emily's hand back into her own. "I'm... relieved to hear you still agree."

"Don't worry, sweet." She grinned, nuzzling at Widowmaker's hand. "I've got you. We'll be fine." A glance back up, through the window. "All three of us."

\-----

"I am increasingly worried," the doctor said, sharing documents across the table to the subset of Overwatch personnel present. "But I cannot give you a firm reason why."

"She's not... acting entirely like herself, is she?" Winston said, nervously, flipping through pages of data he was not reading. "I've worked my entire life to understand human body language, and it's not always easy, but I've got a pretty decent grip on it. Hers is different, now."

"It is," Morrison nodded. "Has been since the eyes, but it's getting worse."

"She was always very tactile, very physical," Dr. Zhou said. "But you see her with _them_ , and they're _always_ touching. Over and over again. It's a little off-putting."

"It's a little creepy, you mean," said Hana Song, back from Korea only a few hours before. "No, it's kind of a lot creepy. And that palm nuzzling thing is just bizarre."

"She is not changing any more, not physically," Angela said. "Some of the body language, I think, is more getting used to a very different nervous system than she once had. But I have also noticed the... nearly obsessive need for physical contact with Widowmaker and Oilliphéist. With everyone else, she's hardly touch-averse, but it is different."

"That part seems pretty normal to me," Winston noted. "She still sneaks up and gives me a noogie at least once a day."

"I could fly in after the show tomorrow," Lúcio said, over comms. "I haven't seen her in a while, I could tell you how much she's changed, or hasn't..."

"If you can manage it, certainly," Angela replied. "The more data I have, the better. But I am far more concerned with the reactions in her nervous system."

She brought up a set of charts that wouldn't mean anything to anyone not a research doctor, but they gave her something to point at while speaking, and that made her feel better, like she had more of a grasp on the situation than she really had. "There is a hint of a pattern to sensory input reactions. It is not a pattern I can yet identify, it is not anything easy to find - she does not react, for example, to video samples of Moira, with or without sound." The doctor switched to paired video of Dr. O'Deorain and Lena's data, placid and nonreactive.

"It would be very tempting to make assumptions and be led seriously astray... but... there are... agh," she spat the word. "I do not like speaking in such terms. It is very un-Swiss of me, but there are... rumours and innuendoes. There are inferences in these numbers, barely outside margin of error, but... I cannot even say they are statistically significant. I simply do not understand them yet."

"She clearly hasn't been programmed to like Dr. O'Deorain," Winston said.

"No, clearly. Similarly, not Talon. It is entirely possible that it is just biases in the way her nervous system works, and it could turn out all to be something as trivial as your love of peanut butter, which is, for the record, complex in similar ways." She glared at the shifting data. "But - I am convinced something is here."

"You heard her at the debriefing," Morrison said, flatly. "Would the Lena Oxton we know - we _knew_ \- smile at Widowmaker relishing a kill?"

"That's unfair, Jack. You know how she scored on psych exams back in '68. It's why..."

"Maybe it is, maybe it isn't. But..."

"Look, n00bs," Hana Song interjected. "You're all missing the obvious. Spiderbitch is one thing, okay? She's a defector. She's a merciless assassin, but she's also a victim. So I can just about see Lena going for that, particularly given her looks. Everybody with me so far?"

"What are you getting at, Hana?" asked Lúcio.

"C'mon - Oilliphéist? Really? Oilliphéist?! She isn't a victim. We don't know much about her, but we do know she _wanted_ this. And Lena is apparently... _okay_ with that? And we're supposed to be okay with her being okay with that?" She crossed her arms and leaned back in her chair. "I don't think so."

"She and I have talked about it," Winston said, "She's aware..."

"And she's still doing it. Watch 'em touch. I'm not sayin' they're in love, it's not even sexual, they're touching just all the time. _Watch them_. It's _weird_."

"Should we cancel this operation? Talon has already taken a real body blow. The governments are finally starting to set their operations in motion..." asked Winston.

"No," said Mei-Ling, firmly. "Absolutely not. The risks are too great."

"Even if it means we lose Lena to... whatever this might be?" _If it's even anything_ , he prayed to himself. 

Mei-Ling looked down at her padd, eyes haunted, and did not reply.

"Look," Winston continued, "why don't we just... get her away from them for a few hours. See how that goes. We could have an Overwatch Night Out tonight, like we used to. Hana, you come; Angela, you bring Fareeha. All of you, me, Mei, Lena... see if we can't just remind her who she's always been. She if she snaps back."

"That would be wonderful," Mei-Ling said, wistfully. "I miss those days very much. It seems so long ago already."

"The pub back in Gibraltar?" Angela asked, a bit of a smile. "It has been a while."

"Why not? It's a bit of a haul, but at least they're used to me," Winston noted, "And Athena could fly us back if we stayed up too late."

"It would be worth a try, at least," Angela said, thoughtfully tapping her chin. "We are in an alien and stressful environment, particularly for her. If she reverts to normal in a comfortable, normal situation, then perhaps... we are all just reading too much into everything."

"She is not the only one under stress," Dr. Zhou noted.

"I can't believe we're having an executive meeting to decide to go out for drinks," Morrison snarked, shaking his head.

"You _have_ forgotten the old days, Jack." Dr. Ziegler snorted. "I absolutely can."


	19. The Wembley

"Really?" she said, leaning forward with her phone. "The Wembley? In Gibraltar? That's nearly five hours away - bit far for a night out, innit?"

"That's true," Winston replied over the line, "unless you go suborbital."

"You serious, mate?" Lena blinked. "You've got a Sparrowhawk?"

"We had to get here before you did. How'd you think we managed that?"

"...didn't think of it, I guess. We were a bit distracted." _Some pilot I am_ , she thought. _Should've realised_. "Seems a bit much for a night at the pub, though."

"Well, it is. But it is our usual hangout, and we've been in Oasis for weeks now, for the most part, and we were thinking it's about time for something a little more ... routine. See if we can get a little more back to normal."

Tracer considered that. "Doctor O'Deorain's signed off? She's supposed t'know if Em leaves Oasis - y'know, the agreement and all that rot - and really..."

"We... weren't thinking about including Widowmaker or Oilliphéist. Just the Overwatch gang, like usual. Like old times."

She frowned, but could see the point in it, so let it go for the moment. "Does this mean I'm cleared for Gibraltar? Me spending the night there, I _think_ that's..."

"You are, but we'll come back here, as agreed. If we're... how do you put it? A little too much in our cups? Athena can fly us back as well as I could."

Lena smiled a little at that. "Who else is coming?"

"Almost everyone who's here. Jack isn't - he's going along to give the Watchpoint a look-over, make sure nothing's been disturbed, but won't be out with us. It'll be you, me, Mei, Hana, Fareeha, and Angela."

Tracer felt a little frisson of fear run up her spine at the last name in the list. _No, that's not fair, this isn't another test, it's just a night out_ , she thought to herself. _Just that. I think._ "Even Angie? She doesn't usually come along, not unless it's a special occasion..."

"Well, it is - first night out since you got back."

Lena nodded, pointlessly, and frowned again, thinking. _Won't leave Oilliphéist here alone. Can't take her with us without breaking the agreement, least not without Moira's approval. Means Widowmaker **has** to stay here. Really don't like leaving them behind, though..._

She took a nervous breath. "Let me... let me think. When d'ya want to leave?"

"We were thinking we'd head out at 17:00 - the flight won't take too long, but we'll still have to deal with clearance and landing and everything else."

"Makes sense. Um..." she gave it a thought, "...pencil me in, I'll meet you up half an hour before. But I'm gonna check with Danielle and Em, make sure they're comfortable with it, and I'll call y'back."

The hesitation on the other end of the commlink was small, but definite. "Sure thing. Talk to you soon."

Tracer broke the connection, and looked unhappily at the phone, before looking back up to her counterparts. "I..."

"Go," said Oilliphéist, from her seat across the living room table, Widowmaker nodding her agreement. "They're worried about you, luv, and trying to make it up. So go."

Danielle sipped at the tea Lena had made a few minutes earlier, a pleasant tippy assam which had become the teleporter's favourite. "They want to make sure you're all right, and get you somewhere away for a little while from... everyone they consider dangerous."

"You," Lena said, dejectedly.

"Yes," said Widowmaker, raising one eyebrow amusedly. "And Oilliphéist. Correctly so, let us not pretend."

"Don't like the way they're dancing around it. Makes me nervous."

Emily grinned. "Ah, don't worry, Lena! We'll be fine. I can handle my aunt."

"It's not that, luv, it's... well..." She shrugged. "Well, it is that, partly. But also, Angela's gonna be there, and I don't like... bein'... alone? That isn't right, Winston'll be there, I know he won't let anything happen, but..."

"You do not like being the only person there who has been through what we have been through," Widowmaker said, voice quiet. "Particularly not a gathering with someone so capable, who fears us so very much."

Oilliphéist nodded to her lover, picked up her phone, and made a call. Her silver eyes flashed to Tracer, and she said, "Y'won't be alone."

She heard the other end of the signal connect. "Hullo, Aunt Moira! It's Em." She nodded her head back and forth, a yes, yes, I know you're busy motion. "Yes'm. But mind if we step out for the night? We're thinking of going to a pub in Gibraltar." She smiled, as a quiet voice on the other side of the line made noises unintelligible to Dani and Lena. "Yes, Gibraltar. Yes, it's far. We'll be quite late, but certainly back before tomorrow morning. And I'll keep a locator beacon turned on." Some more voice over the far side of the line. "You're so good to me. Thanks, auntie." A little more voice. "Love you too. Bye!"

She put the phone down and grinned as Widowmaker smirked. "Now," she said, "was that so difficult?"

"But you're not..."

"I know, luv. We'll just be..." She waved her fingers in the air. "...around. Go, relax, have some fun, let them feel better. We'll keep watch."

Tracer huffed out a little bit of a laugh, and felt herself calming down a bit. "Thanks, luv." She stretched, big, in her chair. "Might do me some good, I suppose. I could use a night out." She reached over and took Widowmaker's hand. "I'll make it clear, though. Next time - it's not just me."

"I do not mind." Widowmaker took Lena's hand, nuzzled, and kissed it. "We are not joined at the hips, ma chérie."

"Well," chirped Tracer, wickedly - "Not _all_ the time" - and Widowmaker almost giggled a little in return.

"C'mon, Widow," Oilliphéist said, rising from her seat, picking up her Breath. "If we're gonna beat 'em to Gibraltar, we need to leave right now."

"Ah, yes," Widowmaker replied, picking up her Kiss. "We should." She kissed Tracer's hand again before rising. "See you soon, ma petite contrariété."

\-----

Tracer's smile flashed as she teleported directly out of the Sparrowhawk at Watchpoint Gibraltar. "Hooo, I'd forgot how much fun those are!" She teleported around more a bit, apparently for no good reason other than she could. "We should use these for everything!"

 _She's certainly high-strung this evening_ , Angela thought, unstrapping herself from her flight seat, stretching out from the high-G transit. _I hope that's a good sign._

Tracer teleported around the control tower and looked towards the north in the not-so-darkness, out of sight of the others for a moment. _Where are you, I know you're here... ha!_ In the mid-distance, she spotted a familiar silhouette, and then a second, and she waved, and both waved back, and she grinned, broadly, relaxed. Then she rewound, appearing back at the ramp amidst the Overwatch crew, grin still intact. "C'mon, slowpokes! That lager won't drink itself!"

Winston punched in an access code, a large door opened, and the larger civilian transport floated out onto the tarmac. Morrison checked security systems, verifying no detected intrusions, and nodded as he ducked inside to do a manual sweep. "See you when you get back," he said, gruffly. "Apologise to Blair for me."

"Will do," Fareeha replied. "He's not going to be happy that you're working tonight."

"He'll live."

Fareeha smirked, a little.

"He's _not_ my boyfriend."

Fareeha eyes narrowed, and she smirked a little more.

Morrison scowled, but with a hint of humour in it. "With all that's going on, I can't not run a full check. But... I'll join you later, if I can."

"Much better," Fareeha said, as Angela giggled and pulled her away to the transport. "Come on, dear, stop trying to fix the soldier's love life. It's impossible."

"I'm coming!"

\-----

"Yeah, I was afraid of that," Lena said, as she walked in through the antique front door.

"What's wrong?" Winston asked, following in behind her, the large scientist a tight fit in the frame.

"Ah, not much - this place is pretty dark, yeah?"

"Sure! But it's comfortable."

"It's a lot less atmospheric when you can see all the dirt and th' holes in the plaster. That ceiling's a mess."

"Ah," said the Lunar scientist. "I'll have to take your word on that. Nothing's going to fall down, is it?"

"Nah, it's just old. Most of it's been painted at least once. I mean, why fix it if y'can't see it, right? I get that, but... c'mon." She snorted. "Well, beer's still beer."

"And darts are still darts."

"Won't be fair now, luv."

"It will be if we handicap it right."

Lena smiled as Hana ran over and grabbed their usual corner booth, the big one with the movable bench, and Mei-Ling followed closely behind. "We already had t'do that once, big guy. Can't compete with a Brit at darts, not on level ground."

"Sure - we'll just do it more." He grinned.

"Well..." She took a big sniff of the room. Smelled like old times, mostly, but with a little bit of an odd tang, like cleaning fluid in the w.c.. _Ventilation system must be off, too_ , she thought, shrugging. "We can try. We'll figure it out, somehow."

"Get enough bitter in you and we'll be even!"

She chuckled, and hopped next to the table as Fareeha called over from the bar - "Everybody's usuals?" - having just relayed Jack's apologies. Blair waved at the chorus of yes-please and thank-you from behind the counter and filled a large tray with an assortment of beers and wines, and a separate, smaller tray with a brownie and glass of sahlab.

"Thanks," Fareeha smiled, with a small nod, as she took her own tray to the small individual table Angela had placed by the end of the booth. Blair followed, serving the large tray of drinks. "Good t’see you lot back in town! Chip order's in, I'll be right back with the munchies."

"Brilliant, luv," Tracer chirped, and the barkeep looked, then started, surprised. "Yeh," she said, a little tiredly. "I know. They're new. Long story." He nodded, and kept his smile as he retreated to the kitchen.

"Guess I'm gonna have t'get used to that all over again," she said, taking a pull from her pint. Mei-Ling poured half her Tsingtao pilsner into a glass, leaving half in the bottle, to go back with the tray.

"I don't know why you just didn't wear your contacts," Hana said, sampling her lager. _Ah, yeah. Nice to be back_ , she thought, relaxing into the padded leather bench.

"Don't like 'em," Lena said, shifting a little on the bench seat. "They bug me."

"We can take some time tomorrow for a new fitting, if you'd like" Angela said, brightly.

"Nah," Lena replied, taking another drink. "Rather not, luv."

"Well, it's either that, or get used to his kind of reaction."

Lena glared, expression sharp. "I _like_ my eyes, doc. You got a problem with that?"

"Of course not, it's just that..."

"I like them too," Winston interrupted, Lena turning to look at him with a quick smile.

"Y'do?" she said, surprised.

"They're pretty. And you like them, so, I like them, and that's all that needs to be said about _that_ ," he stated, firmly.

"Of course," Angela replied, just as quickly. "I'm sorry, Lena, I am sometimes too much a doctor."

"It's true," Fareeha said, having taken another bite of her brownie. "She really is."

Lena leaned a little against her best friend's arm. "Thanks, luv." She downed the rest of her pint, all at once. "Y'wanna have a go at those darts? Only double and triple scores count for me, and only for regular value."

"Sure!" The gorilla pulled himself out of the way, and Lena wobbled a little as the alcohol hit her bloodstream in a rush. "Woah! That's..." She laughed. "That's good. Let's do this!"

\-----

Lena picked at the fish. They'd finally figured out how to make a competitive game at the dart board, but it involved spinning the target, and it hadn't taken too many rounds of that nonsense to bring Blair over full of all-right-all-right-none-of-that. But he'd agreed to let them install a second, spinnable board, later.

"You okay, Lena?" Winston asked.

"Yeh, I'm good." She popped a chip into her mouth, and finished off the third pint. "A little bored, tho', t'be honest."

She looked over at Fareeha and Hana playing at the snooker table, Angela watching from the opposite side, Lena not entirely able to convince herself that she was watching the game and not her. "And a little paranoid. Angie's not taken her eyes off me all night."

"I know what you mean," her friend said, quietly. "I think you're right."

"Not just me, then."

"No. We talked about it earlier, she's ... worried."

"Doesn't trust me anymore, y'mean."

"She trusts _you_. She just doesn't trust what might've been done to you."

"Yeh," Lena muttered. "Not much difference from this side, though."

"I just wish all this was over," he said, quietly. "Over, and we could go back to normal."

"I wish Wids was here," she said, quietly, staring into her empty glass. _I know she's just outside, but it's not the same._ "She could be stared at too, and at least it wouldn't be just me."

"I got stared at a lot, when I first landed," he said, sipping at his lager. "Still do, most places. It's not fun."

"No," she agreed, squeezing his hand. "It's not."

\-----

"But what're y'gonna do when all this is over?" the MEKA pilot demanded tipsily. "This isn't a game you can play from both sides."

"I dunno - we'll figure it out!" Lena replied, frustration in her voice. "We're still gettin' t'know each other properly, yeah? It'll be fine."

"Lena, please - haven't you thought this out at all?" Angela asked, a little too crisply.

"Course we have, luv - we're gonna buy that condo, live on an island..."

"Lena, please, I am serious! Emily is... how can I put this?"

"She's a psycho killer," interrupted Hana Song, definitely one too many into her cups. "That's what I don't get. I get it with Widowmaker, kinda - she didn't ask to be what she is, you're a sucker for a nice ass, and that is one nice ass. But Oilliphéist _did_."

"I'm not certain Danielle is so very different, defection or not," Mei-Ling opined, on her third pilsner.

Tracer glared, copper eyes hard. "I thought this was supposed to be a nice night out at the pub, not a fucking intervention."

"It's not an intervention!" Hana huffed. "I just thought maybe you'd've thought his out a bit by now."

"Or at very least," Fareeha noted, "had a plan. You've got to have some kind of plan in place for when this is over. I'm good at plans, I'd be happy to help with..."

"Happy t' help with ganging up on me, apparently."

"That's not fair," Angela retorted. "Yes, we have all wanted to know how you're intending to handle the situation after this one, but I think we have a right to know that, given the people involved."

Lena looked around the table, eyes widening. "This whole thing was a setup, wasn't it?"

"I wouldn't go that far, no," Angela replied, warily. "We've always talked about problems on these nights out."

"Is this another one of your _simulations_?" Lena snapped, fear in her stomach. "Am I gonna remember this in the morning?" 

"Woah, woah, Lena, no!" Winston insisted. "No. I swear to you, no. This is real."

"Is it?!" She spun in place, and her gaze softened, a little. "...Yeh. Okay. I guess I don't really mean that, but..." She rubbed her face with her hands, breathed out raggedly, and put her hands back down on the table.

"I need a mo'. I'm takin' a trip to th' loo. Don't follow me."

As she left, Winston looked back to his tablemates. "Well, _that_ couldn't've gone worse. What were you thinking, ganging up on her like that?"

"She needs to face reality!" Hana insisted. "She needs to deal with it, or we're all in trouble!"

"We are already in trouble," Mei-Ling said, sadly. "But we don't have any choice in it."

"I just wanted to help her analyse the situation tactically," Fareeha said. "I honestly didn't mean any more than that..."

Angela rubbed her temples, frustration in her forehead and eyes. "I should... I should apologise. I should follow..."

"No," the Lunar scientist said, firmly, "you should not."

\-----

Lena stepped into the washroom, and into a stall, and sat, shaking, on the commode. _Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. That was... oh god, that was bloody awful..._ She pulled some tissue off the roll, and blew her nose into it, hard. _What's going on, why are they so... so..._

She shuddered, eyes wet. _It's all right, Lena. It's all right. Pull yourself together. You've got this. They'll, they'll, after this is over, they'll... understand. Eventually. They have to._

She was about to pull out her padd and bring up the private commlink she and Oilliphéist had set up with Widowmaker, when her phone vibrated. "Cherie," she heard Widowmaker's voice say, "I hate to break into your evening, but..."

"Oh love, you have no idea how glad I am to hear your voice right now."

"Perhaps not. We have had an urgent summons - Moira believes Reyes has discovered our operation, and we need to move quickly."

Tracer blinked her eyes clear, swallowed hard, and smiled broadly, already feeling better. "Some action, then?"

"Yes. The timetable must be advanced. We're to leave at once, and rendezvous with Moira en route to North America. Warn your friends."

"Right! Will do. Where do we meet up?"

"In front of the casino by the airport. You know it?"

"Absolutely. See you in a few minutes."

Tracer stood, took a deep breath, and let it out slowly, before exiting the stall. She pulled a sheet of paper towel out of the dispenser, wetted it, patted down her eyes and face, and dried, with a second towel. _There_ , she thought, looking at her copper eyes, famous half-grin spreading across her face. _Much better._

\-----

Morrison closed the last door behind him, sealing the auxiliary entrance. He nodded to himself, satisfied - no sign of intrusion anywhere, all safe and secure. _I'm really looking forward to getting back here_ , he thought. _Oasis is beautiful, but... I just can't trust it._

He brushed off his hands - even a locked-down facility gathered dust - and was about to signal Angela, see if there was still time to catch up, when he saw an all-too-familiar column of smoke coalesce at the foot of the launch pad, next to the Sparrowhawk. He pulled his rifle and aimed as the Reaper appeared, maskless, glare visible in the pad lights, even at range.

Gabriel Reyes dropped his shotguns, dramatically, to either side, and made no move towards the Soldier, who held his fire as his former compatriot raised one arm, slowly, a large, clear photograph of Lena Oxton serving drinks to the wealthy in São Paulo hovering in front of his hand.

"What the _fuck_ ," he said, "do you _idiots_ think you have been doing?"


	20. (breaking) radio silence

Winston sat, quiet and unhappy, as the transport piloted itself back into the Watchpoint. _That... could not have gone worse_ , he thought, as the vehicle rumbled quickly down the Gibraltar city streets. Lena had emerged from the washroom, given them the news, warned them about the Reaper, and had taken off just as quickly, Angela's attempts at an apology largely brushed off, an issue to be settled later.

_At least she seemed to be in a better mood_ , he thought, as the gate closed behind them and the vehicle floated towards its garage, stopping just outside to let everyone disembark. _I hope that's a good thing._

"Keep an eye out," he said, as the side doors folded back and the storage bay rattled open. "We have no idea where... uh... hello there."

Reyes stood, unhidden and unarmed, beside Morrison, who called, "Stand down, team. We have a truce."

"Nuh- _uh_ ," Hana said, pulling her pistol from the transport's small armoury, and aiming it at the hooded former Blackwatch commander. "Not 'til we're _all_ ready to play."

Reaper shrugged. "The more time you waste with that, the more time you lose."

"I'll take that chance. You make one funny move, smoke boy, I'll blow your head off! Everybody, out of the transport, get inside and gear up."

"Whatever. I'll wait. Where's Oxton?"

"Wouldn't _you_ like to know?"

"Oh, give me a break. I know she was with you."

"Jack, are you okay?" asked Mei-Ling.

The soldier nodded. "I'm fine, Mei. I've got this covered. Go on in with the rest of the team, gear up as much as you need to. We'll meet you in the conference room under the launch pad."

"Okay!"

\-----

Reyes looked wistfully around the table. "Man, it's been a while."

"Since you came in shooting and tried to kill me?" asked Winston. "It hasn't been that long."

"I'm a heavily-trained special-ops super-soldier, and you're a research scientist. If I'd wanted you dead, you'd've been dead." He snorted. "But I have to admit, I made it look pretty good. Finally got you to issue the recall, too - that was a bonus I didn't expect."

"...what?" asked said research scientist. "You're joking, right?"

"None of you ever understood my plans," he replied, only so patiently. "I'm going to reach into my jacket, pull out a sheet of paper. Don't shoot me, that shit stings."

"I'll be watching you," said Angela, staff at the ready, Fareeha armoured and beside her. 

Reyes nodded, and reached into his jacket, as promised, and pulled out a sheet of paper, which he unfolded, and slid over to Winston. "Ask Athena for Blackwatch arms inventory record 20680524b1640. It's encrypted. That series of words forms the decryption key."

"Athena, does that record exist?"

"It does, Winston," came Athena's voice. "It is indeed encrypted. Checking for payloads and other inappropriate material..." She paused, several seconds. "Apparently clean."

"Does this series of words form an encryption key?" He held the paper up to one of the cameras. "Can you read it?"

"Yes, Winston. Scanning keywords for payloads... clean. Decrypting record and analysing for payloads..." Athena, in her own way, made it very clear didn't trust Gabriel any more than anyone else did. "Clean. Result is... a text file, last edited 24 May 2068, author Reyes, G., Commander, Blackwatch. 75 pages."

"To save time," Reyes grumbled, "it details my... belated... discovery of the key members of Talon, and my intent to go underground inside their organisation, in order to take it apart. I left it in case things went badly. I did _not_ think I'd be using it like this."

"Athena?"

"The summary of the text is brief, but reasonably accurate."

"Last Blackwatch agent standing?" Hana mocked. "What kind of n00b do you take me for?"

Jack squinted, and tilted his head. "Agreed. Reyes, are you seriously trying to tell me you've been undercover this entire time? After all that's happened? After _Geneva?_ "

"Bullshit," Winston said. "Pardon my language, but - bullshit! You had devices plugged into the mainframe for several minutes. Adding a minimally-restricted file like this wouldn't've taken a microsecond."

"True, and I'd be the one able to do it. But the transaction logs, not so much - and particularly, not the offline transaction logs from '68. Still got those?"

Morrison snorted dismissively. "No."

"I almost hate to say it, but... we might," Winston said. "I'd have to check long-term storage. There are several older archives left over from the investigations that we never destroyed."

"Really?" Morrison asked. "After that explosion?"

"Offsite backups are the best backups," Winston shrugged.

"This is stupid. What do you want, Gabe?" Song demanded. "You're here for a reason."

_She's the one who keeps them on track_ , the former Blackwatch commander thought. _Good to know_. "Yeah. I am. What the hell are you doing assassinating Talon board members? I didn't think that was your sort of thing, or Oxton's - but that photo makes it pretty damn clear she's involved."

"Putting it all on the table, then?" Morrison asked, and Reyes nodded his confirmation. "Good."

"Fine," Song said. "We're not the one p0wning your bosses. But we know who is, and we're staying out of the way."

"Oxton's not. She's involved. Where is she?"

"She's trying to stop your war!" Dr. Zhou interjected, immediately regretting it.

"What?"

Song nodded. "Akande wants to start a second Omnic War. He's been planning it for years. We know."

"That's... true," Gabriel said, "at least, in part. Growth through conflict."

"So you admit it."

He shrugged. "Lesser of two evils. That's always been the game. I pit faction against faction, wasting money, whittling them down. It's why I got him put in jail, and it's why I broke him back out."

"But the world will not survive it," Mei-Ling said. "My paper on the climate anomalies will be in _Nature_ in another few months, but the data are clear now. The world cannot survive another Omnic War on the scale of the last one. Not even half."

"I... what?" Reyes's surprise looked genuine to the scientist.

"Besides," the doctor continued, "What would be worse than another Omnic War?"

Reyes laughed, just a little. "O'Deorain. Who else?"

\-----

"The operation is simple," the armourer said to her living weapons as the chartered transport took off from Dublin with its payload. Officially, they carried sub-Omnic level processors for automated assembly devices, along with a crew of four.

She projected an image against the cargo hull wall. "This is Antonia Rizzuto, the current leader of the Rizzuto crime family, and, through a variety of shell corporations and private investors who exist only on paper, the largest stockholder in INCAS, an arms manufacturer of some note. She is also the last target before we take on Akande and Gabriel directly."

"More spy action?" Tracer asked, brightly. "Liked that. That was fun!"

Moira smiled the least-ungenuine smile Tracer had ever seen her manage. "I'm afraid not - I don't know how much Reyes knows, but we must assume the worst. This will have to be a direct assault." She flipped to another image, a three-dimensional display of a wood-and-stone mansion on open ground, surrounded by forest. "Fortunately, I know she is at the family compound outside Laval, Quebec. It is more heavily fortified than it looks, and security will be heavy."

"Good!" Oilliphéist said. "I need a real fight. Anyone special?"

"No, unless Reyes beats us there. Otherwise, only ordinaries - but a large number."

Widowmaker smirked, and Oilliphéist shivered a little, excitedly. "Oh, all the better. I haven't been able to give myself really free rein since the chateau."

"Any... non-combatants in the mix?" Tracer asked. "If it's a family compound..."

"Crime family, not family-family, dear. They've controlled Quebecois organised crime for nearly a century. We'll be doing the honest local police - insofar as there are any - a favour."

Tracer bit her lip, nodded, and flipped through the satellite photos on a disposable padd. "Snipers likely ... here, and here..."

"And here, and here," Widowmaker added, pointing. "Less obviously."

"How far into the building were you taken when you were last on mission in Quebec, Danielle?"

"Only to the first rooms on the ground floor. The left room off the main entrance is a library and office. There are central stairs up in the foyer, which is two storeys tall, and has hallways leading left, and right, in back with two doors visible. The right room on the ground floor is a salon, and is where we discussed the mission. There are double-doors from there to another room, further back, but they were closed. Also, there were exits back and out on the ground floor, on either side of the stairs."

"Good memory, love," Lena said, appreciatively.

"For some things, at least," the assassin replied.

"Neither Emily nor I have ever been there, so unless Lena has any surprises..."

"Sorry - never even heard of it before now."

"...then we will be operating on far less ground data than I would like. I apologise for that, but it is what it is."

"This is a terrible idea," Tracer said, frowning. "We need more about the interior layout, at least..."

"We lack options. Reyes knows what's going on - and he may well know of your involvement. At the moment, we are ahead of him; we must stay that way, for the final stage to have a solid chance of success." She flipped the padds to another document. "For what it's worth, building plans were on file with the provincial offices, and I have included them. We should assume they are incomplete and at least partially out of date, but they are more than nothing."

Lena frowned, but nodded. "I don't like it, but ... I guess so."

"Memorise all of this, then get some sleep. I'll awaken you before we land, we'll scout the situation, and plan on site. Any questions?"

"Yeh. Do these seats fold out?" She fiddled at the attachments. "Oh, they do. Brilliant!"

"Memorisation first, sleep later," Moira said, sternly.

Lena glared at the doctor. _Bloody hell, you're irritating_ , she thought. "Thin dossier, doc. Already done," she said, finding a blanket, and rattling off the building's key points as she lay down. "Well, mostly. I'll get the rest of it before I'm asleep."

"You also have a good memory," the Widowmaker said, approving.

"For some things," Tracer replied, grinning wickedly, "at least."

By the time Widowmaker curled up against her back, she was already mostly asleep, but woke just a little, and smiled at her lover's cool touch. _Ohhh, that's better_ , she thought, barely even forming the words in her mind. _**Much** better._

\-----

"...and you let her out of confinement?! Didn't you learn _anything_ from Lacroix?"

"Her brain was _not_ altered. We did full-time intensive analysis and simulations for over two weeks, and found _nothing_. Her peripheral nervous system, her eyes, yes, and we have been studying those changes ever since she returned, but her memories have checked out, her psychological profile has checked out, and her mind shows _none_ of the Widowmaker markers - and we had Widowmaker to compare against directly."

"Look. I don't care what your scans say, I don't care what your tests say, she's not Lena Oxton anymore. Not the same Lena you knew. Not if O'Deorain's had her." Reyes cradled his head in his hands. "You've given Moira the most dangerous weapon she's ever had, and on a silver platter."

"And why should we believe you?" Song snapped. "You've killed dozens of people that _you_ say were generally Talon agents or founders - how can we know that? We can't! Even if Winston and Mei-Ling find that old data set, and even if that file turns out to be from '68 - you've been in Talon for years! You could've gone over to their side three months in. This could all be you just trying to distract us, throw us out of the game. Save Akande, get your war."

He nodded, slowly. "You're right. All that could be true."

"What's _your_ real goal, _Reaper?_ Whose side are you really on?"

Reyes leaned back in his chair, and for a moment, looked not only human, but old - genuinely old, and very, very tired. "Ogundimu wants to force humanity to improve," he said, slowly. "To put it to a test. To push growth, but not dictate its path. O'Deorain, on the other hand... she just wants to 'improve' humanity - to her ideas - directly. Reform it to her model. To _perfect_ it, all at once."

He closed his eyes, head back. "Can you picture _that_ world, with _her_ ideas of perfection? One of her favourite sayings is 'stupidity is not a right.' People laugh it off - even within Talon - but she has _very_ narrow ideas about what's _smart_ , and damned few people make the grade. Imagine _that_ world." He looked back up, eyes open. " _Where is Oxton?!_ "

"Winston to conference room C - uh, guys? We found it."

A holographic projection of Winston's office appeared in the open area between the stairs down to the conference centre. Winston held up a storage pack, Mei-Ling beside him, looking very unhappy.

"What'd you find?" Song asked.

"Backup datapak with all the logs from 2068. It's had evidence tape across the access port since it was sealed in '70, and it was still in place. I'm afraid..." he took a deep breath. "I'm afraid it backs Gabe's story. The file existed, same checksum, same last-modified date."

_Gott in himmel, not again_ , Angela thought, hands raising to her mouth. She looked at her wife. "I... I think Fareeha and I should get back to Oasis right away. Awaken everyone, bring in the whole staff. See if anyone can find what we have missed."

"I'm not a biologist," Reyes interjected, "but I know know a few things about her work over the last few years. Most of it's been focusing on the idea that you don't need to control someone's will - or even rebuild their mind - if you can just make them _want_ the same things you want, on a very low level. Change them so they like the 'right' thing, and they'll just do the 'right' things - creatively, even - all on their own. I don't know if that's any help, but..."

"It might be. Thank you. Athena, is the Sparrowhawk prepped for return flight?"

"Affirmative, Dr. Ziegler."

"Hold on, Angela," Morrison said, "we don't know that any of this is real, yet."

"The best lies," she said, side-eyeing the once-Blackwatch commander, "are at least partially true. I'm not panicking - Reyes gave me an idea, and you cannot do everything by remote. I need to get back to my labs."

"Fair enough. You can send Jesse back via the Sparrowhawk, and Lúcio if he's available - we need a medic on site. Everyone else should stay, I think." He paused for a moment. "Hana, can you call in a replacement mech here? We need to be in operational condition as quickly as possible."

"No sweat," the once-pro-gamer replied.

"Athena?" Winston asked. "Contact Genji; update him, see if he can come in. And bring the Watchpoint out of standby and up to full operational status."

"Acknowledged, Winston. Beginning wakeup."

"We have to try to recall her," the scientist continued. "I insist."

"That'll tip her off," Gabriel said, "and that'll tip off Widowmaker, and that materials engineer she was sleeping with, what'd you call her, Oilliphéist? And Moira."

"Her niece, Emily," Winston said, and Gabriel blinked, momentarily confused.

"Yeah, it might," Song said. "Don't care. Do it. She's one of us," _...I hope..._ "and she needs to know what's going on. But she'll be in radio silence 'til..."

" _Where is Lena?!_ " demanded Reyes.

Song bit her lower lip, and gave him a long, hard look before deciding. "...we dunno. Not specifically. She's with O'Deorain. On another mission."

" _Shit_. Well... we're already at maximum alert. I'll have to tell Akande that Oxton's involved, but otherwise - I guess we're as ready as we can be."

"We?"

"Talon."

"Of course." She glared. "You need to make a call, and we need the room. Reyes?" she continued, "Out. Athena, watch him. Close. And listen in on his comms - no cheat codes for you."

"Decided to believe me?" he asked, standing.

"Don't get cocky," Morrison replied. "I know you. It's probationary, at best."

Reyes snorted, and even managed a hint of a grin, before jogging up the stairs. "Good."


	21. past the edge, and away

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hover over French text for English translations. They are a little awkward because span titles apparently disallow apostrophes in some browsers.
> 
> ...and apparently are not working at all, in some others. An English translation of the relevant text is in the end notes.

Oilliphéist laughed and laughed, joyous and free, dancing between gangsters trying, so hard, to play with guns, and failing, so completely, and falling, so quickly. She caught a glimpse of Tracer, across the long great hall, beaming as she shot down two, three, no four, and then she was out, not out as in unconscious, or out, as in out of ammo, but out, as in out of targets, and so was Emily, and they met, as in Russia, the middle of the arena, falling against each other, Tracer shaking, gasping with breathy half-laughs, arms across Emily's shoulders, "Oh," she said, "oh," she gasped, "that, that, that, was brilliant," her pupils blown wide open, her skin hot. "God, that felt good."

The younger assassin laughed, knowing, and put her cool hand on Tracer's forehead, so nice, so perfect. "I knew we'd fight together like this. I _knew_ it." She dropped her hands gently along Lena's neck, pulling her close, and leaned her forehead against her counterpart's, so happy.

"We've," Lena said, gasping a little less, "We've made, a bit of a mess, haven't we, luv?"

"Got that right - and it's wonderful," Emily replied, voice liquid, feeling the teleporter's skin cool under her touch. "Oh, oh, no," Lena replied, " _that's_ wonderful. Keep doin' that."

"Of course!" she said, as Moira's healing orb passed around them, again, small now, almost expended, but no longer needed regardless. "I like how you warm my hands."

Tracer giggled, and touched her collar tab. "Widowmaker, Tracer," she said. "The great hall is cleared. Any sign of the target?"

The shot of the sniper's rifle rang out, slightly faster on comms than in the air, "I believe they are headed towards the helicopter pad. Sadly for them, I have displaced the helicopter's stabiliser bar."

"Nice one. Direction to helipad?"

"Upper floor, east northeast. But they may have more conventional transport elsewhere."

"On it."

The grand stairwell at the end of the great hall diverged across two corridors, and the two weapons looked at each other, nodded, and chose.

"See you on the other side," Tracer quipped, and jinked forward.

\-----

"NON! Papa a dit rester ici!" The middle child held his place behind the pillow on the little couch in the now-unsupervised playroom. A guard had been stationed, but was, no longer. "Non!"

"C'est si fort!" the youngest said, sitting next to him, by her own pillow. "Est-ce des omnics?"

"Quelqu'un est dehors," the oldest said. "Cachez-vous!"

\-----

Oilliphéist danced through her hallway, silver eyes sparkling, occasionally finding a straggler, picking new ways to shoot each one, wetting her blades when she had the opportunity, keeping her counterparts updated, floating, floating so freely.

 _I heard that_ , she thought, and spun around a double-doorway, knocking it open with her back, and spinning, instantly targeting the face, and she jerked, back, grace lost, as the child, no more than ten, at the end of her rifle froze, wide-eyed, too terrified to scream.

A moment. A second moment. A third, and she lowered her Breath, and knelt down in front of the boy. "Oh, oh, oh, no, you weren't supposed to be here," she said, looking around the room, seeing two other children, younger, confused, afraid, hiding fruitlessly behind pillows. "This isn't for you, no, no no, no, this... is no place for children."

She thought, hard, struggling to remember her French. "Viens avec moi. Je vais te ... ah, ah, cacher. Tu seras en sécurité. Oui?"

"Vous... vous... vous êtes bleu!" the terrified boy said, after a moment.

"Oui."

"Es-vous... un omnic?" he stammered, fascinated, reaching towards her face.

"Non. Je suis un dragon, je suis la mort, mais... je ne suis pas là pour toi."

"Un dragon?" he said, taking his hand away, confusion displacing some of the fear.

"Un dragon _effrayant_. Qui es-tu? Pourquoi es-tu ici? "

"Mon papa est le cuisinier, il nous a amenés au travail aujourd'hui..."

"Viens avec moi, vous tous. TRACER!" she shouted, gunfire having faded away. "TRACER!"

The teleporter appeared at the doorway, and the boy shrieked and ran to hide under the bed. "What is it, lu... oh!" she gasped.

"I spun into the room and there they were, my gun at that one's face... I barely had time _not_ to fire. We have to get them... somewhere else. Anywhere else."

"Right," the teleporter nodded. "'Course. Oh, this is awful." She stopped, and blinked. "I just... realised... I'm a little... surprised you didn't just keep going. What with our mission. And all."

" _These_ are _not_ our mission. Ever," she said, as one the children started to wail, and the third tried to shush him, eyes wide.

"Right. Right." She nodded, relieved. "And you're smart, you said so. Yeah. Good." Tracer darted over to the crying boy. "Shh, shh, ça va," She looked back up to her lover's lover. "Let's get them..."

"I've never killed a child, _Tracer_. Not ever."

Tracer considered, her head tilting just a little, still trying to soothe the wailing child with her hands, and it not working. "It's not just...?"

"No, it's not." The blue woman glared, partly at her compatriot, but partly at herself, uncertain whether it was always so. _But it is so,_ she thought, _and that's what matters._ "I'm... a little upset you thought it was. I think."

"Shh shh shh, ça va, ça va." Lena bit her lip, and nodded. "I apologise, luv. I'm sorry, I really am. I ... the way you've described so many things..." She shook her head. "No. I believe you, and I'm sorry. And I'm... really happy I was wrong."

 _She believes me_ , Emily thought, smiling, _...and I think I do too_. She smiled more widely. "That's better! C'mon. Help me get these kids down to the basement. Should be safe enough, there."

"Right."

They both looked up at the sound of a single rifle shot, followed shortly by a great crashing sound, and the building shook.

"Tracer, Oilliphéist - Moira here. The target is down, and so is her helicopter. Evacuate at once - our work here is complete."

"Also," came Widowmaker's voice, also over comms, "the building is aflame. Get out, _now_."

"Oilliphéist here, with Tracer - acknowledged. En route." Off comms, she continued, "Or... maybe... another house would be better."

"Yeh," Tracer grinned. "Guess we broke this one." She picked up the smallest of the children, bodily, who squirmed fiercely to no avail. "Venez, les enfants. Nous devons partir - la maison est en feu!"

"Le feu?!" exclaimed the oldest, echoed just later by the middle child.

"Oui. En dehors. Allons-y!"

\-----

"You're doing what now?" Tracer demanded, as she sat down, having retreated to a separate room, a private washroom attached to the Reykjavík hotel's gym.

"Recalling you, effective immediately," Winston repeated, calmly. "We have some new information, and we need to evaluate it before we take any more steps in this project."

"You're - you're not thinking of breaking it off. When we're so close to finishing this. We've done so much."

He shook his head, no. "Not immediately. But it's a possibility, if the new information we have is true. We don't know that it is, but... it's important enough to pause, and consider what we're doing. So we - _I_ \- need you to break off the current mission, and return, at once. Please."

She shook her head, frustrated. "It's... it doesn't change anything in this mission. We're already on our way back. But..." She looked up, and off camera. "But... Oilliphéist. Widowmaker. We don't, we don't have an agreement, for after, we haven't worked it out and we're _not_ gettin' separated. We're just _not_. We..."

 _What's that glance_ , he thought. "What... did you just look at? You are alone, aren't you?"

"Yeh, 'course I am, I said I'd find a place..."

"Would you rotate the camera around, to show me? Please?"

 _...he doesn't trust me_ , she thought, shocked, and she almost kept it off her face, but couldn't, not quite.

"Lena, I need to know you aren't being coerced. That's all. Turn the camera around, if you can. Please."

"Yeh. Sure," she said, her voice flat. She picked up the padd, and slowly rotated it around the small room. "Think I forgot the code phrase for that, then?"

"No, I don't. But if other people had discovered it, then I couldn't be sure you could use it safely."

"Or... what y'really mean is... if I'd decided not t'use it. And Danielle was here. Or Emily."

"Or _Moira_ ," he said, firmly, "most of all."

Tracer snorted, nervously. "I'm not stupid, luv, and Hana's not subtle. Even ignorin'... whatever that was at the bar... I've spotted her watching me. It's not as bad as Angie, but..."

She put the phone down on the counter by the sink, and sat on the commode, lid down, her head in her hands, looking through her fingers. "Fine. Right. What..." she took an uneven breath, "What'dya find out?"

He hesitated. "I'd rather not put that on comms, and besides, like I said - we don't know it's true. It's just that there's enough credibility to it that we...."

"What. Did. You. Find. _Out_." she demanded, fingers curling, anger fighting with fear in her voice.

He sighed, eyes angled down, at his desk. "We have information suggesting you've been ... changed in more ways than we knew. Angela has some ideas about the methods involved, and we are checking them as quickly as we can. Just to be safe, we need you home."

 _Oh no_ , she thought, _no, no, no, no, no_ , fear winning out, for the moment. "How? I don't feel it. _How?!_ "

"Through Moira's revamping of your peripheral nervous system. We have information suggesting it's what she's been working on, these last few years - and what Ogundimu was trying to slow down."

"No," she shook her head, trying to feel it, trying to feel for any of it, and just feeling like herself, like her always self. "I, I, I... I don't believe it. How do you... how'd you get this intel?"

"Gabriel Reyes has come to us, claiming to have been a double-agent this entire time, and..."

"Fucking REAPER?!" she hissed, leaning forward. "One of our _targets?!_ He tried to kill you _last year!_ Have the whole lot of you gone completely raving starkers?!"

"Lena, we found backup storage units, offline since 2069, containing files confirming at least parts of his story. They _could not_ have been hacked, they've been powered down the entire time, _and_ secured."

She stared at him, angry, mystified, not speaking.

"Angela is combing through every scan she's taken, every test she's run, looking for something, anything, to confirm or invalidate his story. We _need_ to bring you home, Lena. For your sake."

"For more _tests_ ," she said, _...and another holding cell_ , she thought, but did not say, a spike of fear running down her spine. _Wonder if this one'd be shared too?_ "Y'ever consider this is you doin' exactly what he wants, exactly right now? That this is _his_ counter-op?"

"Of course we have. But we _have to_ consider the possibility that he's not lying. That he's right."

Her arms dropped to her sides, astonishment flashing across her face. "You, you..." She drew a nervous breath. "You trust _Reaper_... more than you trust me."

Winston blanched, and took a moment, taking that beat. "Lena?" he asked, quietly. "It's me. No. I _don't_ trust him. But we have a responsibility - _to you_ \- to find out. That's all."

 _How is this happening?!_ she thought to herself. _C'mon. Calm down. Calm down. Ask the right questions._ "And what would y'do if y'decided he was right?"

"We'd work as hard as we could, until we could undo whatever she's done. Angela has many of the greatest medical minds in the world at her side. We can fix this."

 _Fix **me**_ , she couldn't not think. "And Widowmaker? And Oilliphéist?"

"That... would depend on them."

 _But none of it depends on me,_ she thought, shuddering, her eyes closing, and reopening, gaze flashing across the camera.

"No," she said.

"Lena, please, don't do this..."

" _No_ ," she repeated. "Not 'till we've finished this job. Then, then, when everyone has calmed the fuck down and stopped listening to mass murderers who literally blew up Overwatch Geneva and tried to kill everyone left over, _then_ maybe. _Maybe._ "

"Lena? Please. You're my best friend. You always have been. You know that. _Please_ , I'm begging you. Trust me. Come home."

Tracer let out a little heh, copper eyes half-closed, looking at the floor, thinking, thinking, thinking, and deciding.

"Soon," she said, a compromise with herself, looking back up. "Soon." She nodded. "After this is over, and when you've decided to... start trusting me more than bloody Talon board members again."

"Lena," he swallowed, trying to figure out how this had gone so very wrong, "I'm begging you. I'm here. I won't let anything happen that you don't want to happen. Please, come back, or at least... admit you know what might be happening. Remember what you said about everything being so easy. Please."

She shook her head, firmly, no, resolve helping her feel more herself, more in control. "Not comin' back, luv. Not 'till we're done. After that..." She considered his last words, for just a moment. "After that, we'll talk. Tracer" - she reached out, and picked up her padd - "out."

"Damn," Morrison said from the right corner, as Winston slumped in his chair, the screen in front of him now blank. "That's bad."

"That's one way to put it, yes," the scientist replied. "Did either of you pick up anything from her that wasn't... obvious?"

"No,” he said, shaking his head. “Not that we hadn’t already seen. I guess I can't blame her for reacting to Gabe that way..."

"I didn't think she'd split up their little party, and she didn't," Song noted, from the left corner. "We gotta call the bird wives. We gotta assume this'll go straight to Moira's ears, and she'll know we know, and flip."

"I don't think it will," Winston said. "Not even now. Lena wouldn't've said she'd come back at all - not even later - if she was that far gone." He tapped his chin with his index finger. "She's still herself, I'm sure of it. Stressed and afraid - but still herself."

"Doesn't matter - gotta cover all the approaches, can't get flanked," Hana said, glancing at a notification light on her plugsuit. "New mech's just dropped. Gonna go meet it, do checkout. Winston - you'll call Ange?"

He nodded. "I will."

"I knew this was the wrong game to play," the MEKA pilot muttered as she dashed out of Winston's office.

"That doesn't help, Hana!" Jack called after her, before rubbing his temples and looking back to Winston. "We had to play it. Once we had Dr. Zhou's data, we had no choice."

"I know," Winston said. "But I'm not giving up on Lena. No matter what."

"Understood." He let out a little bit of a heh. "Neither would I."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apparently, on some browsers, the span tags are not working. So here are the relevant sections, translated to English.
> 
> \-----
> 
> "NO! Dad said to stay here!" The middle child held his place behind the pillow on the little couch in the now-unsupervised playroom. A guard had been stationed, but was, no longer. "No!"
> 
> "It's so loud!" the youngest said, sitting next to him, by her own pillow. "Is it the omnics?"
> 
> "Someone is outside," the oldest said. "Hide!"
> 
> \-----
> 
> Oilliphéist danced through her hallway, silver eyes sparkling, occasionally finding a straggler, picking new ways to shoot each one, wetting her blades when she had the opportunity, keeping her counterparts updated, floating, floating so freely.
> 
>  _I heard that_ , she thought, and spun around a double-doorway, knocking it open with her back, and spinning, instantly targeting the face, and she jerked, back, grace lost, as the child, no more than ten, at the end of her rifle froze, wide-eyed, too terrified to scream.
> 
> A moment. A second moment. A third, and she lowered her Breath, and knelt down in front of the boy. "Oh, oh, oh, no, you weren't supposed to be here," she said, looking around the room, seeing two other children, younger, confused, afraid, hiding fruitlessly behind pillows. "This isn't for you, no, no no, no, this... is no place for children."
> 
> She thought, hard, struggling to remember her French. "Come with me - I will, ah, ah, hide you someplace safe. Okay?"
> 
> "You... you... you're blue!" the terrified boy said, after a moment.
> 
> "Yes."
> 
> "Are you... an omnic?" he stammered, fascinated, reaching towards her face.
> 
> "No. I am a dragon, I am death - but I am not here for you."
> 
> "A dragon?" he said, taking his hand away, confusion displacing some of the fear.
> 
> "A _scary_ dragon. Who are you? Why are you here?"
> 
> "My dad is the cook, he brought us to work today..."
> 
> "Come with me, all of you. TRACER!" she shouted, gunfire having faded away. "TRACER!"
> 
> The teleporter appeared at the doorway, and the boy shrieked and ran to hide under the bed. "What is it, lu... oh!" she gasped.
> 
> "I spun into the room and there they were, my gun at that one's face... I barely had time _not_ to fire. We have to get them... somewhere else. Anywhere else."
> 
> "Right," the teleporter nodded. "'Course. Oh, this is awful." She stopped, and blinked. "I just... realised... I'm a little... surprised you didn't just keep going. What with our mission. And all."
> 
> " _These_ are _not_ our mission. Ever," she said, as one the children started to wail, and the third tried to shush him, eyes wide.
> 
> "Right. Right." She nodded, relieved. "And you're smart, you said so. Yeah. Good." Tracer darted over to the crying boy. "Shh, shh, it's okay." She looked back up to her lover's lover. "Let's get them..."
> 
> "I've never killed a child, _Tracer_. Not ever."
> 
> Tracer considered, her head tilting just a little, still trying to soothe the wailing child with her hands, and it not working. "It's not just...?"
> 
> "No, it's not." The blue woman glared, partly at her compatriot, but partly at herself, uncertain whether it was always so. _But it is so,_ she thought, _and that's what matters._ "I'm... a little upset you thought it was. I think."
> 
> "Shh, shh, shh, it's okay, it's okay." Lena bit her lip, and nodded. "I apologise, luv. I'm sorry, I really am. I ... the way you've described so many things..." She shook her head. "No. I believe you, and I'm sorry. And I'm... really happy I was wrong."
> 
>  _She believes me_ , Emily thought, smiling, _...and I think I do too_. She smiled more widely. "That's better! C'mon. Help me get these kids down to the basement. Should be safe enough, there."
> 
> "Right."
> 
> They both looked up at the sound of a single rifle shot, followed shortly by a great crashing sound, and the building shook.
> 
> "Tracer, Oilliphéist - Moira here. The target is down, and so is her helicopter. Evacuate at once - our work here is complete."
> 
> "Also," came Widowmaker's voice, also over comms, "the building is aflame. Get out, _now_."
> 
> "Oilliphéist here, with Tracer - acknowledged. En route." Off comms, she continued, "Or... maybe... another house would be better."
> 
> "Yeh," Tracer grinned. "Guess we broke this one." She picked up the smallest of the children, bodily, who squirmed fiercely to no avail. "C'mon, kids. We need to go outside - the house is on fire!"
> 
> "On fire?!" exclaimed the oldest, echoed just later by the middle child.
> 
> "Yes. Outside. Move!"


	22. and yet, so evocative of memories

"Lena, what's wrong?" Olliphéist asked, as Tracer burst into the room, holding her padd.

Tracer looked around the rented resort hut. Emily. Danielle. "Where's Moira?"

"Out in the spa. She loves the hot springs here. I was thinking of joining her. Why?"

"Let's... go to the restaurant. Get a bite."

"Hungry again already?" She laughed, as Widowmaker shook her head, sharply, no, and raised her finger to her lips. "I could use a bit of an after-dinner snack myself," she said, pleasantly. "Why don't we?"

Oilliphéist nodded, quickly, catching up. "Sure! I'll come along for the company."

"Good! Let's go."

The three women made their way carefully through the extraordinarily discreet resort complex, seating themselves in a corner of the only open bar.

"Emily, can you keep a secret? I know Danielle can - but can you?"

"'Course I can, luv."

"From _Moira_."

She newer assassin laughed. "Well, _yeh_. From her, _particularly_."

"A _big_ one. You need to know something, and I need her not to."

Oilliphéist turned her head a little, silver eyes still looking at copper, considering. "...I think so."

"Even if she made you telling her into a mission?"

Emily took a deep, hard breath, looking inside herself, and closed her eyes. "Unless... unless she made revealing this specific thing my mission, yes. If she did..."

"If she did that," Widowmaker noted, "she'd already know."

"Yeh," Tracer agreed. "Good enough." She took a deep breath. "Smokey showed up at Gibaltar, after we left."

"What?!" hissed Widowmaker, leaning forward.

"Yeah. I don't know what kind of double-agent rubbish he's trying to play, but he's got 'em convinced I've been..." she fiddled with the cocktail napkin in front of her, "...adjusted. I think. They tried to recall me. Get me back. Get me separated off."

"That's not good," her lover replied. "He knows what's happening, then."

"Yeh, which is why you two need to know. I'm not a secret anymore."

"Why can't we tell Aunt Moira?" Oilliphéist asked. "This is important."

Tracer shook her head. "If we tell her, she'll want t'know how we know. Can't give her that - who knows what she'd do? This is too delicate as it is, we can't muck it up."

"Does that mean you refused the recall?" Widowmaker asked.

"'Course I did. We have to finish this mission, you know that."

Oilliphéist nodded, relieved. "Yes. We must."

"But _Moira_ can't know I'm AWOL. It'd be..." She shook her head. "It'd be awfully... tempting. I'm not wrong, and y'know it."

Widowmaker snorted, and Oilliphéist's silence served as agreement.

"So I figure, right, we can't rule anything out - not even me having been... changed somehow that we can't tell. She did a lot to all of us," Lena acknowledged, as Oilliphéist smiled happily, hugging herself just a little. "But we also can't go back to Oasis in the interim. They'd try to grab me, get me off somewhere alone for Angela to work on, and we - we can't let that happen."

"I agree wholeheartedly," Widowmaker frowned, took Tracer's hand, and held it, tightly. "I, too, have had _enough_ of being _taken_."

Lena smiled, and squeezed Danielle's hand in return, picking it up, nuzzling against it. _So nice_ , she thought, anxiety falling, just so. "We need to go somewhere else, instead, 'till the next opportunity comes in. And when we're all done - when this is over - we need to be ready to run somewhere else together - somewhere all our own."

Oilliphéist looked uncertain. "Are you sure? Talon has been so very good to me, and with Aunt Moira in charge, it will be..."

Widowmaker put down her glass, picked up Emily's hand, nuzzling it, in turn. "I love you, but she is right, ma chérie. We need to have an independent position from which to negotiate. I'm sure you can appreciate _that_."

"And like I said, we can't be sure Moira didn't pull something on us," Tracer continued. "You've had the same questions I've had, Em - I want that cleared up before we do _anything_ after this mission. If all this is just side effect, then, I'm grateful and happy. But if it's not..."

Emily hesitated, but nodded, decisively, once she made her choice. "Quite. Auntie can get a little," she waved her free hand back and forth, "enthusiastic, it's true."

Lena blew out a little bit of a breathy _hoo_. "Good. I'm thinkin', we get our condo, whatever we call it, yeh? We let Angela and Moira come to _us_ and do their examinations or whatever, once all this is over. They keep a check each other's work, you two watch them, make sure neither of 'em _does_ anything, just like like we did when it was just your aunt, yah? Then we'll know for sure - where it's safe, and it's under _our_ control."

"I agree - this is critical," Widowmaker nodded. "If O'Deorain honours the terms of our agreement, we can use the chateau. But if she does not..."

"And what'll we do 'til the next mission?" Oilliphéist asked. "I've got a fair bit of savings from before, but not enough to waltz in somewhere and buy an island..."

Tracer grinned. "That's th' easy part, luvs - you think I don't have a couple of safe houses all my own? Got a little place in Edinburgh a while back, when I was an adventurer. Got a place in North America, too, and one in New Zealand. I'm thinkin', I'll say I've got some business t'sort out, y'both insist on coming with me, and we'll lay low in Scotland 'til we get our chance at Akande."

"No more separations?" Oilliphéist asked, happily, a little dreamily.

"Yeh," Tracer agreed, smiling. "Not again."

Widowmaker smiled in turn. "Good."

 _It might_ , Oilliphéist thought, _be about time._ "Hm. Tracer, can I get a look at your pistols before we go to bed?"

"Sure - what's up?"

"It's been about long enough since I gave them to you, I want to give 'em a look-see. Might need to make an adjustment or two."

"No problem." She looked at the drink menu. "Well, that's sorted. Anyone else actually want to get anything? I want some chips."

"Just water for me," Emily said. "Wouldn't want to muck up your guns. Might steal a chip, though..."

Lena laughed. "Course y'will, luv, you're English." 

"I think I will try the birkir," Danielle said, looking over the menu. "Have you ever had it, Lena? It has hints of malt, you might enjoy the flavour."

Tracer grinned, feeling a little better with a plan at least partly in place. "New t'me, love - but if y'think so... why not? Yeah! I'll give it a go."

\-----

"I'd like to take some readings of your nervous system," Dr. O'Deorain said, pulling a piece of equipment from her baggage, as Emily worked with the electronics inside Tracer's pistols.

The teleporter glared at the device. "No."

Moira's head tilted, just a little, eyebrows furrowed. "It's important, Lena. All the other instances of this nerve work have been in much more heavily-modified bodies; I need to insure that your more conventional genetics are continuing to agree with the modifications." She turned the device, showing the opposite side; a flat plastic panel. "I assure you, it's just an integrity scan, and completely non-invasive."

"Sick a'bein' prodded," the teleporter growled. "Had enough of that already, from Angela, don't want to get it from you, too. Which, by the by, reminds me - we're not goin' back to Oasis. Y'need to drop us off in Glasgow - all three of us."

"What? We absolutely cannot do that," Dr. O'Deorain replied, surprised. "It is in direct violation of our agreement with Overwatch." She looked at the teleporter, studying her intently.

"Seems t'me I'm the only Overwatch here, and if I say it isn't, it isn't," Lena snapped.

"Perhaps - but I do not think the rest of your organisation would agree," the doctor said, hand raised to her chin, index finger tapping beneath her nose. "What's going on, Lena? Something's changed."

"Not your concern, doc," she said, firmly. "What matters is I'm still onboard, Em and Danielle are still onboard, we just need to be... somewhere else for a few days. In Scotland. For a bit."

"Fascinating," Moira muttered, and looked over to Widowmaker. "I presume you'll be no more illuminating than her."

"Non," the senior assassin smirked.

"Emily?"

"She has things to do, and we're not splitting up 'till this is done, auntie. I'm goin' with, and that's all there is to it." She hit a couple of final test points with her logic probes, and nodded, satisfied. _That'll do._

"How interesting," the Talon board member said. "Lena... would you be willing to tell me _exactly_ what happened, when you and Widowmaker returned to Overwatch, after your upgrades?"

Tracer started, just a little, and Moira nodded. "Ah, so, I'm in the right neighbourhood, aren't I?" She held up the handheld scanner. "Please, let me scan you - I'll show you it's harmless by using it on myself, first. Here, you may even hold the scanner."

The Overwatch agent took the oddly-shaped device by its grip, looking askance at it. "Wouldn't know what t'do with it, mate."

"You'll see for yourself," she said, turning it on. "Run it along my arm - or, really, any part of my body. See?" A set of screens appeared, filled with data and a holographic display of nerves. "I want to check several things, starting with the electrolyte levels in your cerebrospinal fluid and moving further down. You're agitated, and I need to make sure it's not related to my work. You should see my numbers in the right pane - not that I imagine they'll mean much to you."

Lena huffed, skimming the data, which was exactly as meaningless to her as Moira had suggested it would be. She looked over to her counterparts, who glanced at each other, than nodded back. "Fine," she said, handing the scanner back, and sitting on the edge of the bed. "This work?"

"Perfectly," the scientist said. She began running the device slowly along Lena's arms. "What, exactly, did Ziegler do?"

"Huh? Oh. Put us through a lot of tests."

"Physical and psychological examinations?"

"Yeh," she nodded. "And simulations we don't remember."

Dr. O'Deorain stopped, for just a moment, but she did not turn off the device. "How... interesting. Why don't you remember them?" she said, resuming her scan, moving to the other arm, then down the spine. _Angela **has** become more aggressive in her methods. Good,_ she thought, _she needed to be. It will improve her work_. For just a moment, she found herself imagining working with the Swiss woman again, but forced herself to put it aside.

"She blocked us from forming long-term memories," Widowmaker said, from the other side of the room. "We have seen recordings made of the test sessions, they were... essentially harmless."

"How many of these simulations did she run?"

"Twenty-eight," said the sniper.

"I _see_. And you remained cooperative?" She moved the device along Lena's right leg.

"Yeh, 'course. Didn't know they were simulations 'til they ended, and then she'd always say it was the last, even though it wasn't..."

"One time, in the video, you asked her how many times she'd said that, and she said she'd lost count," Widowmaker noted. "I'd wondered what had prompted that."

Lena shrugged and Moira did not smile. _And there we are_ , the doctor thought, watching a spike of fear cycle echo though Lena's nervous system. _You may not remember, but your body does. Angela's done some of my work for me. I'll have to thank her for that once this is all over... though I don't think she'll appreciate it._

"Good news," she said, brightly, briefly passing the scanner along Lena's left leg. "You're doing well. Physically, everything is exactly as I'd hoped. Glasgow, you said?"

"Yeh," Lena nodded. "Downtown, if y'don't mind."

"Not at all. Just be ready to go at any time - we will have our opportunity soon, I'm sure of it, and we will need to respond at once."

Lena nodded, with a bit of a grin. "Brilliant."

\-----

"Do you see it?"

Dr. Ziegler nodded to Dr. Ngcobo. "Scent," she sighed, tiredness in her voice. "So deeply tied in with memory, and so evocative of memories. I am a fool."

"That is why, I think, none of our tests revealed the mechanism. It simply wasn't activating completely."

The senior researcher ran her hand through her hair. "The isolation tank was counter-productive."

"I am very much afraid it was. A bad call, on my part."

"Don't blame yourself, Michael, it was mine as well." She shuddered. "So, a bias, a shift in reactions to... something. A quick, sharp reaction _against_ whatever it is" - _or_ , she thought, _whoever_ \- "then a return to baseline, and a slow climb towards preference, over time."

"Over and over again," he agreed. "Built to fool us - _and_ her."

"That... oh, no, that visceral reaction she kept having to O'Deorain..." She slumped. "We've been seeing it at work and never knew."

"If I am understanding this path correctly," he highlighted a series of seemingly-trivial reactions in the spinal column, "she's been getting a dopamine reward flood, as well. I can't tell when, without her here."

"But," she said, straightening, slapping her hands on her knees, "her memories are her own. Moira didn't lie about that - or about altering her base personality. We can, I think, work with this."

"Can we?" he asked, pointedly.

"I... I believe we can," she insisted. "I have to. After all - it may be the only hope we have left."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  
> 
>  
> 
> The curve that started this entire story.


	23. against your first and better judgement

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I remind everyone - for the final time - that the archive warnings and tags are there for a reason. Please consider them appropriately before continuing.

Tracer geared up for battle, the last one, the big one, where - all goes well - Doomfist and Reaper both go down. _No more double-agent I've-still-been-Blackwatch-all-along lies from Gabriel, no more let's-start-a-war from Akande, no more of... all this madness_ , none of which could end a moment too soon. She shook out her arms, then flipped out her pistols, which felt so nice in her hands, and flipped them back, perfectly, flawlessly, soothed.

She didn't love the kill, not like Oilliphéist did, and she didn't get the rush from it, like Widowmwaker, but she didn't mind it, either. Particularly not at this point, with so very many kills under her belt. Particularly not here, knowing who, and what, and why.

She smiled to herself, as she thought, _Today... we prevent the Second Omnic Crisis_.

"You seem cheerful, ma chérie," said Widowmaker, gearing up beside her. Oilliphéist flashed a smile, too, as she checked her rifle.

"Yeah," said Tracer, a bit of calm happiness in her expression, as she flipped her pistols in and out of their holsters. "A few days not bein' poked at makes all the difference in the world. And today, we wrap this up - as long as Moira doesn't bring in some stupid bloody last-minute change of plans, anyway." She grimaced, grunting a small noise of frustration. "I've got used t'her, I guess - but buggery hell, she still annoys me."

Widowmaker laughed, the sound delightful in her ears. "I know, she does. But it is amusing."

"What?" asked Tracer, half-grin all akimber across her face. "Me bein' all irritated makes you giggle? S'that what did it? Didn't even think you _could_ giggle, six months ago..."

The blue assassin smirked. "No. It's that you always say that, and that you don't trust her, or her ideas, ever, and even with what we know, you always end up following her plans against your first judgement. _That_ is funny."

Tracer smirked right back. "I do not."

Oilliphéist shook her head. "You do, though. Every time."

Tracer laughed, and popped her pistols into their holsters again. "Huh, yeah, I guess I..." She stopped. She tilted her head, and blinked, slowly. "I..."

The tangerine-clad assassin looked down, at her hands. They were shaking. They never shook. Not ever. They _couldn't_. "I..."

"Lena?" asked the Widowmaker, worried, Oilliphéist looking back up as well. "What's wrong?"

"I..." she shuddered, time after time after time flipping through her head, all at once.

_Tea? **No.** ... Huh. A bit light for my tastes, but not bad._

_This is a terrible idea. ... but... I guess so._

_No. Sick a'bein' prodded. ... Fine. This work?_

_I'll never trust my quickness again. ... This is, this is **wizard**._

_You call this nothing?! ... I **like** my eyes, doc. You got a problem with that?_

_I don't believe you, mate, - somethin' else is goin' on. ... I guess we're in. We're doin' this._

Her hands stopped shaking, and finally, she knew. "Bloody hell," she whispered. "...what have I done?"

"Lena?" Widowmaker stepped over, and took her hands in her own. "Talk to me, cherie?"

"I..." She braced herself, taking a deep breath. "I'm..." She looked up. " _Do you love me?_ "

Widowmaker blinked, golden eyes reflecting her own confusion. "Of course... of course I do, you know that."

She looked over to Oilliphéist. "Do you _trust_ me."

"Implicitly," replied the newer assassin.

Tracer bit her lip, hard. "I... I think I just figured somethin' out. Trust me, today. Follow my lead. And if y'can't follow - then just trust me and stay out of my way. Can you do that?"

"This is not the plan we've already had," her lover said, "is it."

"No. Wrong or right, that's still on. But if I'm right... we'll need to make some changes."

The senior assassin's eyes narrowed, as she considered what that meant, and widened again, as she reached the same conclusion Tracer had reached moments earlier. "...I will follow you."

Oilliphéist's mind ran much along the same path, the once-ginger thinking, _Is **that** it? Is that... of course. Brilliant._ "Tracer?" she said, firmly, gesturing to Widowmaker with a nod of her head, "I'm with her - but I'm also with _you_. Do you understand?"

The teleporter gave her counterpart, a long, desperate look. "...I think I do."

"Don't forget that."

Lena Oxton breathed out a heavy breath, and nodded. "I won't."

\-----

"We have to rely on the fact that Lena's memories and base personality - I am now reasonably certain - were not modified. But she _is_ changing, as she adopts to her body's new preferences. The positive reinforcement she is receiving for violence in particular is almost certainly quite strong. How quickly that's reshaping her, we cannot know."

"Even worse," Dr. Zhou pointed out, "they've been unmonitored for five days. Who even knows what O'Deorain has been doing to her - and to Danielle?"

"It is something we must keep in mind," Dr. Ziegler agreed. "But they must be ready to move at any time, and there has been no sign of any of them in Oasis, and my people have been watching O'Deorain's primary facilities quite closely. I doubt there has been opportunity for too much to be done."

"Maybe, maybe not," the Soldier said. "If she wanted to subdue them, haul them off somewhere... her niece managed it just fine before."

"That's the second time you've called Emily O'Deorain's niece," the double-agent in Blackwatch armour said. "What are you talking about?"

"Emily's her niece," Fareeha replied. "They both said so."

Reyes squinted, or, at least, looked like he was, despite the low knit cap. "No, she's not. Moira's an only child. Emily's a war orphan. Her parents were Welsh and English, not Irish."

"Seriously?" Hana waved her hands around in frustration. " _Seriously?!_ " She went head-down on the tabletop, and screamed a little. "Of course she's not."

"Sorry - I'm Talon's chief of security, believe me, I'm sure." He scratched behind his left ear, looking down at the table. "Must be some part of keeping her compliant." He looked back up. "Gardner was," he laughed a little, "difficult to keep on a leash. Brilliant - maybe the best weapons engineer I've ever seen, but... well, we had a dedicated squadron of guards assigned to her. There were reasons."

" _Before_ being transformed?" Winston asked, a little bit incredulously.

"Yep. Two fireteams, on alternating duty. Killed every one of 'em on the way out, too. And her psychologist. And a few other people."

Angela looked to the former Blackwatch commnder. "That... does not fit well with the person I have met."

"I agree," Mei-Ling said. "She is very strange, but she is also very nice."

He shrugged. "She could act like a normal person, when she wanted to - until you set her off. Then you needed a fireteam. Or two."

The doctor gave Reyes a considering look. "We might be able to use the changes to her memory," the doctor said. "If it isn't just an act, and if Emily is truly unaware of the changes. It might provide a wedge..."

"Stop - if she's not Moira's niece, why hasn't Widowmaker said anything?" Amari demanded. "Is she in on it?"

Reyes shrugged. "Amélie's memories got pretty hashed up. Widowmaker makes new memories reasonably well, but..." he tapped the tabletop with his fingers. "It's not hard to put one over on her if it involves the past. She just doesn't care."

"I see," Morrison said. "We haven't understood anything that's been going on this entire time, have we?"

"No," said Dr. Zhou, sadly. "We have not"

Reyes shook his head, slowly. "Neither have we. She's been outplaying me for months and I never knew."

"Winston, a sensor has been tripped," Athena said, with a chime. "Tracer has activated her Overwatch PADD. It appears to be active somewhere in Edinburgh, Scotland."

_She's made a mistake_ , he thought, as everyone in the room reacted, sitting slightly taller. _Or sent up a flare._ "Thank you, Athena. Try to pin that down," he replied, before looking over at Reyes, asking, "Where's Ogundimu?"

"Moving between safehouses. I don't know which."

" _Gabriel..._ "

He put his hands up, palms towards the ceiling. "I don't. He's taken over his own security arrangements. Given everything, I don't blame him - I would too."

"Winston," Athena broke in, "Tracer has contacted me by voice, asking that I record a message for you. She requested _not_ to be connected."

"PUT HER ON LIVE, RIGHT NOW! TRACER, CAN YOU HEAR ME?"

Tracer's voice appeared over the conference room speakers. "...follow us, or try to intervene, right? Please? Just let us finish this."

"Tracer, this is Winston, can you hear me?"

"We've got our own plans, for after, once everyone calms down," she continued, not pausing. "Just... stay out of the way. Please. Things are strange, I'd explain, but we're in a rush, but we know, all right? We _know_."

"Tracer, please, talk to me!"

"Once we've got this sorted - and we _will_ get this sorted - I'll be back in touch. Just... stay clear 'till then. Tracer out."

"Lena, no!"

"Connection broken at her end, Winston. I'm sorry," Athena said, with a hint of regret. "The first part of the message indicates they are moving out for the final phase of the operation."

"Were you able to pin down the PADD's location?"

"Old Town section of Edinburgh, Scotland - near the Royal Mile."

"Of course it is," Hana snorted. "Shoulda known."

"Fine. Athena, please prep the Sparrowhawk for launch." The scientist turned to the rest of the assembled Overwatch. "I'm going to Edinburgh, I'm going to find her, and I'm going to _talk_ Lena into coming home."

Hana shook her head. "She will not come back without Widowmaker and Oilliphéist. She will not split the party. I'm telling you now."

"Maybe not. But if I approach her myself, alone, I'm certain she'll listen to me."

"You are not approaching her alone," Fareeha insisted.

"Lena would _never_..."

"Oilliphéist would," Morrison interrupted. "And you know it."

Reyes nodded. "Given what she was like before... if she decides you're trying to take Lena away from her? You'll be dead before you know she's there."

"Winston," Athena broke in, again. "I have a keepalive signal from the PADD. It is moving."

"...she didn't cut the battery?" Fareeha said, surprised.

"She is highly stressed," Angela said, "and said she was in a rush..."

"Athena, complete silence to her PADD. Treat it like it's off. If she doesn't notice what she did..."

Hana Song grinned, for the first time in five days. "Then _we_ have a tracker."

Winston grinned back. "Okay! Amari, Ziegler, Morrison - be my backup? And I do mean _way_ back. Hana, we can't take the mech on the Sparrowhawk - stay here, run tactical?"

She frowned. "I'd rather be on site, but..." She thought it over. "Yeah. It'll work."

"I should go, too," Mei-Ling said. "My data is what convinced..." she swallowed, " _I_ convinced everyone to go along with this. I have a duty to her."

"Absolutely not, Doctor," Morrison said. "This could go well - or it could go very badly."

Dr. Ziegler nodded. "Someone needs to shepherd your data through peer review. It's too important - the future of the world literally depends upon it. You must stay here."

"McCree," he tabbed comms. "You've been listening in?"

"Yup," he said, from the observation tower. "Y'want me here on watch?"

"Please. And when Lúcio checks back in, have him get here if he can, as medical backup."

"Can do. Good luck out there."

"Thanks. Hopefully we won't need it."

\-----

Reyes ghosted his way down the cliffside, solidifying at the ledge below base grounds, next to his flyer. Sitting at the controls, he punched a long sequence of codes into his comms panel, and a network of relays and anonymising nodes came online.

"Doomfist, Reaper here."

Aboard a stealth flyer somewhere across the world, a large ring on a large hand tapped its wearer, and that wearer tapped back, raising it to his face. "Hello, Reaper. Your update?"

"Overwatch is activated, on our side. They have tracking on Tracer, and they're going to try to pull her out of the game for us. Get out of the UK."

"Where is she?"

"Edinburgh, at the moment. But she's on the move, presumably with O'Deorain and her other toys."

"I am not the sort of man who runs from a fight, Gabriel."

_Don't do this now_ , Reyes thought, tiredly. _I need you alive._ "We can recover Widowmaker later. Get out of the UK."

"I think not. I am done with this. O'Deorain wants a fight? Fine. If she's on the move, she knows where I am, and I know she is coming. She will get that fight."

"Akande, I am over five hours away," he lied, punching up his flyer's engines and checking tracking on the Sparrowhawk, finding the signal clear and strong. _Heh_ , he smirked, behind his mask. _Thank you, Winston. Predictable as always. Please, lead me straight to O'Deorain._ To Akande, he said, "At least stay low 'til I get there."

"Do not tell me how to handle myself, Reyes. I cannot lose the respect of the board by backing down." There was a pause, for a moment, Akande presumably considering his options. "But I will take the travel time from Oasis under consideration. Keep me updated on Overwatch. I'll need to know if the teleporter is still involved."

The double-agent cut mic as his rage spiked, closed his eyes, let himself snarl over Ogundimu's bullheadedness, and then, contained it, as he knew he must. "Acknowledged," he said, thumbing his microphone with a smokey hand. "Reaper out."


	24. that which no one will forgive

"Akande has been moving between safehouses," Moira said, handing out her usual set of disposable PADDs inside the back of the cargo train heading west. "And tracking him had become... difficult. But one of his agents has seen the writing on the wall, and become one of _my_ agents. She informs me that he arrived in London last night."

"London?" Lena asked, surprised. "...why?"

"Each hop has been large, and all landing points have been at least 2,000km from Oasis - but does his selection system matter? What matters is that we know where."

"Right." She looked at the map, as did Oilliphéist and Widowmaker.

"The site of one of my finest kills..." Widowmaker breathed. "And... the first place I felt something," she continued, gold eyes flashing to Tracer's copper.

"...you're kidding, mate," Tracer said, looking up to Moira. "Seriously?"

The doctor shrugged. "It was not my choice that he waltzed in to easy range. I presume Maximilian's contacts in the Underground were involved."

"Down in the Underground," Oilliphéist hummed to herself, pleasantly. "Guess y'won't need to memorise this map, either of you!"

"Nope," Lena said, flipping past it, to pages of data. "17th floor, hardened suite, one completely bulletproof window access, one internal door access, one panic room with one hidden escape route - I guess we'll be goin' in through there?"

"That is the plan." She checked the time. "We'll have a short layover in Glasgow in another ten minutes. Take advantage of it, if you need to; there are no stops on the high-speed rail south."

\-----

"Winston," Athena chimed, over comms. "Lena's PADD is now on a nonstop high-speed express cargo rail line, to London."

 _A second change,_ he thought. _Akande can't be in London, can he? Surely, not. A good place to intercept them, then._ "Thank you, Athena. Inform Gibraltar, and see how close you can get us to their arrival point. We'll try to intercept them there."

"Acknowledged."

Fareeha looked to Morrison, who had brought up a map on his padd, found the location, and started setting out defensive positions. "Good," she said. "Let's get this figured out now."

"Stay on the ground, Ree," Angela reminded her. "This is not supposed to be a confrontation."

"Exactly," Winston agreed. "And if I can raise her, she's going to know we're there. The last thing we can afford now is to surprise her."

"Good call," Morrison replied, glancing up. "There've been too many of those already."

"Athena," he said, bringing up a full keyboard, "emergency text channel on Lena's PADD to this keyboard, please. No audio, no visual, unless she requests it."

"Acknowledged. Text switched to your keyboard."

`WINSTON> Lena, this is Winston. You left your PADD on keepalive. I'm hoping that's on purpose. Please talk to me.`

On a train speeding southbound from Glasgow, Lena Oxton felt her bag vibrate, the smallest amount. If she'd not been leaning on it, she'd've just thought it was part of the ride, but she was, and she knew it wasn't. _Buggery hell_ , she thought. _I didn't kill the battery._

She glanced at Widowmaker, and beyond her, at Oilliphéist, and shifted a little amongst the cargo, hiding a little more completely from Moira, deep in thought. She reached into her bag and dug around. "Anyone else want a snack?" she asked, turning to her lover, flicking her gaze up to Widowmaker's eyes, and down to the PADD, its message now visible through the top of the opened bag.

"No, thank you," said Moira, looking back down to her data. "Those protein bars of yours are terrible. I should find you a better substitute, later."

"I might have a bite of yours," her lover said, nodding, glancing down at the padd, and back up.

"Em?" she said, repeating the glance exchange.

"Not right now," Oilliphéist replied. "But don't let that stop you."

"I won't!" She pulled the padd out with the protein bar, the sound of movement lost in the noise of travel."

`TRACER> fuck me`

`TRACER> it wasn't`

She opened the wrapper, peeling it just past the end of the bar, and did not turn the PADD off.

`TRACER> two minutes go`

`WINSTON> We've been tracking the PADD, we know you're headed towards London. I just want to talk when you get there. That's _all_.`

`TRACER> you're not separating us`

`WINSTON> No. We're not. I promise.`

`TRACER> who?`

`WINSTON> I wanted to come alone; Fareeha and Jack insisted on backup. It's me, Morrison, Fareeha, which means Angela too.`

`TRACER> doc doesn't touch any of us got it?`

`WINSTON> I understand. They'll stay far back. I'll be the one who meets you. You can bring Emily and Danielle, if you want, whatever makes you feel safe.`

_I haven't been back to London since, since... the Hoof and Haunch_ , she thought. _Didn't go well that time..._ She glanced over to Oilliphéist. _Or maybe... it kind of did._

`TRACER> you, me, everybody else stays way back, i mean it. deal?`

`WINSTON> Deal.`

`TRACER> next contact after arrival. powering down.`

Tracer shut down the PADD - this time, including the battery - and Widowmaker nodded. "A bite?"

"'Course, love," she said, offering Widowmaker the last piece, as she slipped the wrapper - and the PADD - back into her bag. "Always."

Back on the Sparrowhawk, Angela read the text, her lips sucked in. "She's so afraid of me, now," she breathed, as Fareeha squeezed her hand. "I, I, I don't know what else I could've done..."

"It's not your fault," Winston comforted, speaking quietly. "It's Moira's."

"The important thing is that she's willing to meet," Fareeha said, firmly.

"Agreed," Morrison said. "She didn't even insist on no backup. I think we can still reach her."

"I'm sure of it," said Winston, firmly. "I'm absolutely sure."

\-----

"I have Morrison, at distance, confirmed," Widowmaker said over comms, voice impassive, from high atop a building overlooking the north entrance to the power plant. They'd gone ahead - in theory to do a preliminary survey of the facility in the early winter evening. Moira waited back at their improved base camp, nearer the strike site.

"I have Pharah and Mercy," Oilliphéist added. "Well back, as promised."

"Moving in," Tracer replied. "I see him - he's at a table outside Jamie's, just like he said."

_It's just Winston_ , she thought, nerves jangling, as she walked quickly along the pedestrian-only street, foot traffic light, rain and a Thursday evening keeping the crowds mostly indoors. _Just Winston._

"Hello, Lena," he said, as she sat at the table, opposite him. He looked at her again, seeing the second layer, black, under the tangerine. _New armour_ , he thought. _Looks like the same material as Widowmaker's._ "Thank you for coming."

Lena smiled a little, and shrugged. "My team's listening in. I suppose yours is, too."

"Of course," he said, honestly. "That includes Hana, and everyone else back in Gibraltar. Does yours include Moira?"

"No," she said, also honestly. "We've got a plan, for after."

"Are you willing to share it?"

She heard no objection over comms. "Some of it. We're gonna finish this job. Stop the crisis. Then we're gonna... I have safehouses, Winston, left over from before. You know that. We're gonna retreat to one, as a group, just us. Let everybody calm down, sort themselves out, then once we think everyone's cooled off, we'll contact you. We'll bring in Ziegler _and_ O'Deorain, figure out what's going on - and it'll be under _our_ control this time." She paused. "Not theirs."

_It's not a terrible plan_ , he thought to himself, _with the right safeguards._ "Have you ever considered that maybe O'Deorain is worse than Ogundimu? That she's the bigger threat?"

Lena snorted. "C'mon, luv. I've kinda got used to her - she's... a problem, a big one, but compared to another Omnic War? Get bent."

"Ogundimu is a real danger, I agree - obviously. But he's been imprisoned, successfully, before. He could be taken in again."

"Or, we can solve this right now."

"O'Deorain _hasn't_ been," he said, pushing forward. "She's an official in government, with immunity. Have you discovered, yet, that Emily isn't even her niece? She just thinks she is - but she's convinced of it. Imagine what she could do with an entire nation."

"Seriously? Who told y'that?" she said, dubiousness in her voice and disbelief on her face.

"...Gabriel," he said, reluctantly, and Lena frowned.

"Him? Again?" she said, angrily. "Bugger him. And bugger you lot for believin' him." She pursed her lips. "Look. I'm not sayin' she's a charmer. I've got some idea what she's done. T'me. And yeh: I know. I've sussed it. She's ... done things t'me that she didn't talk about. But we're ready for that, now."

"Are you? Are you _really?_ " He dragged one hand down his face. "Lena, please. Step back. Come home. Nobody will touch you."

"Heard that before," she said. "Well, that's a bit unfair, maybe. But I have. And we're _not_ gettin' separated."

"You don't have to. It's an open offer this time. All three of you. As a group. We'll take you... anywhere you want. Give you a flyer. You can go to one of _your_ safehouses. _Your_ plan, just - sooner. Now."

Tracer shivered, and gasped a little uptake of breath, "Oh, Winston, that, that, maybe, we could..."

" _Reaper is here_ ," snapped Widowmaker, over comms.

"WHAT?!" Tracer shouted, angry.

"I have spotted him," the assassin continued. "100 metres northeast, not visible from your location."

"What? Lena, what." Winston said, alarmed. "What?!"

"You _lied_ to me!" she shouted, jinking away, looking towards the northeast, pulling her pistols at her friend, nearby pedestrians confused by the flashes of light, then alarmed by the firearms, backing away.

"Lena, _what's going on?!_ " he shouted, hands open, arms apart, unarmed.

"Winston," Morrison said over comms, "Get out of there. We're moving in."

"No, Jack, stand down!" Winston replied. "Everyone, _stand down_. Lena, please, what..."

"REAPER'S HERE!" she shouted, from behind pistol sights. "Stop lying! We've _spotted_ him! We _know!_ "

\-----

_Widowmaker, Oilliphéist, Tracer... no sign of Moira, though. Where the hell is she?_ , Reyes thought, scanning, straining to hear the conversation through his shotgun microphone, over the noise of the crowd and rain. _Fuck. I need to get closer._

He ghosted through the mist to a secluded spot, watching, listening, picking up a little more, but still not enough.

_What the...?_ Reyes blinked, as Tracer teleported away, shouting, from Winston. _What just happened?_

He heard her shout his name. _Shit,_ he thought, _how'd they make me...? Damn, damn, damn, I should've stayed further back..._ and he let himself disappear into smoke.

\-----

"What?!" Winston exclaimed. "No! He's not... Hana, do you have him?"

"He's ghosted," Widowmaker voice came over comms. "I cannot see him like this, be ready..."

"I can," Tracer said, spotting the distinctive smoke trail that Reaper could become, at least, for a while, and she teleported towards the dodging stream.

"Pharah and Mercy are moving," Oilliphéist warned. "Morrison, too. Get out of there, luv... _shit_ , Pharah up, Mercy attached... go, go, go..."

"Nuh-uh," Tracer said, "Target one _acquired_. We're finishing this early."

Oilliphéist nodded, from her position. _Right_ , she thought, and lifted her rifle and aimed. _Let's how well you fly without that staff of yours,_ she thought, firing, breaking it in half with one shot, and the beam failed, the angel no longer tied to her raptor, gliding downwards with her wings, still towards Lena and Winston, and Widowmaker took her first shot, damaging the Egyptian's jetpack, watching her fall, too, slowly, erratically, but survivably, as Lena had made her promise. _Like mother, like daughter_ , she smirked, _though you'll keep both eyes._

Tracer tracked the weaving smoke, running alongside it, bomb ready. "I don't know if you can hear me like this, but this is _your_ fault. _All_ of it, you smug bastard. _C'mon!_ "

"Lena, STOP!" Winston shouted, bounding after her, down the short street, "Don't do it!"

Reaper ran out of time, condensing into human form, shotguns ready, and as Tracer threw her explosive, Winston leapt, to stop her, just moments too late, landing between her and Reyes, horror on his face as the bomb landed, attached to his fur, exploding, as Lena shrieked "NO!" and rewound, but uselessly, hopelessly, too late before she tried.

Reyes choked from shock, blood, and explosives residue, his breath lost, and he fired where Tracer had been, a moment before, uselessly. "YOU!" she screamed, unloading both sets of pistol rounds into where his heart should be. A single sniper round fired, and he, too, was down, dead, skull shattered.

"Winston, Winston, Winston, no, no, no!" Tracer cried, teleporting over to the very dead body of her very best friend. "No, no, no, this can't be right, this can't be, Mercy, Mercy, where are you, Mercy, anybody, I know, I know you're listening, where _are_ you?" and she was there, hands scalded, shoving Tracer away, staff snapped, trying to jury-rig it back together, trying, and failing, to trigger her Caduceus staff's resurrection nanite swarm, and Lena jumped back at the sound of Morrison's rifle as he charged down a long street - "GET AWAY FROM HER!" - civilians screaming, running all directions away from the awful sound, tactical visor materialising, and then she was in the air, in the arms of her beloved Widowmaker, still screaming, "No!" and reaching back towards Winston, dead, in the rain, "No, no, no, no, no..."

"Stop fighting me, ma chérie," she said, "those are not kisses they are shooting. Let Mercy do whatever work she can, if she can. We still have one more target."

"One more, one more one more target," she gasped, "no, no... one? Two?"

"Akande," she spat, chaining away to another building, Oilliphéist pacing them to their left, on her own. "Do you want to make this disaster mean something, ma chérie? Then, together, we finish him."

Lena snarled, finding at least part of her self. " _Akande_." She tabbed her mission comms. "Moira, Tracer. We've been ambushed by Reaper. Target down, but - Ogundimu knows we're here." She didn't let go of the channel. "Unfortunately," she added, hesitantly, "...so does Overwatch."

"Understood," Moira's voice replied, after a moment. "And well done. I am en route. Moira out."


	25. and those who no one should

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Text in «chevron quotes» translated from the French.

Widowmaker flattened herself against the wall by the doorway as Akande ran up the stairs, past the landing, chasing the injured Tracer and her damaged accelerator, Oilliphéist and Moira keeping the remaining Overwatch contingent - and the London police - entertained a few blocks away. "Run, darling, run," she subvocalised. "I have him."

As he sped by, she threw down her mine behind him, on the landing, and stepped out - one shot, one headshot, but not one kill. That would be too easy. Too kind.

He spun, and snarled, blood running down the side of his face. "You!" he spat. "Did you think this would be so simple? You - you in particular - will pay dearly, for all of this."

"Why don't you come and show me?" she taunted, spraying automatic weaponry at his armour, so much bouncing off, glancing off, hitting the brickwork, but some, some of it making its way through.

Akande grinned evilly and raised back the Doomfist, the whine of its charging echoing through the elevated alley in the heart of King's Row. "Watch, and learn."

He charged, and Widowmaker dodged, watching him fly by, and over, and trigger the mine she'd left behind moments before. Akande coughed, heavily, bloodily, as she shot again, and he fell to the street below, landing with a painful crunch. She spun 'round, ducked down the through door, down the outdoor stairs, down to where she knew he would have to run, and met him with another mine, doubling down on the poison. As his eyes began to glaze, the neurotoxin setting in - "ça pique, n'est-ce pas?" - he swung, hitting, knocking Widowmaker back against the brick wall, hard - but not hard enough, and she laughed, raising her rifle to his right eye.

"My late husband," said Amélie Lacroix, "sends his regards." And she fired, and he fell, hard, dead, on the ground.

The assassin stepped forward to check over the body, and fired again, and again, and again, faster, into his head, into his corpse, all of Amélie's lost rage, all of Amélie's lost pain, now found, spilling out, pouring itself though bullets into the man who'd had her killed, and the last remnants of Amélie laughed, and laughed, and laughed, savagely and fiercely, _«I win! I WIN! I WIN, YOU LOSE! I! WIN!»_ until, suddenly, she felt the hand of someone, someone dear, someone dearer, even, against her back, and she spun, seeing Lena there, Lena, who'd been so hurt, so badly, her...

"It's over, love," the teleporter said, quietly, but quickly. "He's dead. He's gone. He won't ... he won't be starting anything. At all. Ever again."

Danielle coughed a heaving laugh, through tears, through Amélie's pain. "I, I, I ..."

"I... I think I know."

"I did not. know. I needed. this. So much."

"I know," Lena said, embracing her lover, carefully, gently, held together because she had to be, because she had no other choice. "And he's done. He's down. He's dead. But this... this isn't finished. Do you remember what I said, before?"

She blinked, trying to clear her eyes, breathing hard - for her, hyperventilating. "I..."

"This morning?" Tracer encouraged.

Widowmaker nodded, breath slowing, "Yes."

"Then... c'mon. We've got one more target. _Then_ we're done. Not before."

Widowmaker rallied herself, her real self, her now self, the memory of Amélie finally calmed, finally soothed, finally at rest. "I am _always_..." though it took a moment, "I am _always_ ready to kill," she said, determinedly. "Bring..." She smiled, hungrily. "Bring it on."

Tracer nodded, and touched Overwatch comms - not that she was sure anyone would be paying attention. "Overwatch, any Overwatch, Tracer here. I'm... not sure you're listening, but if you are - the current Doomfist is down. There won't be a fourth - his hardware's about to follow him t'hell. Tracer out."

Widowmaker looked, curiously, at her lover. "His hardware?"

"We're not doin' this again, love. Nobody is." She pulled out the last of her anti-Bastion bombs, completely failing to suppress a shudder. "We'll have three seconds. Can your chain get us clear?"

"Easily," she said, grabbing Tracer around the waist with one arm, aiming towards the power station roof down the block with the other. "Whenever you are ready."

 _I'll never use one of these again_ , she thought, as she set the last of her explosives onto the Doomfist gauntlet, and Widowmaker yanked the two of them away, and clear, before it exploded into an impossible number of pieces. _Never again._

\-----

"You really want to pull those triggers, don't you?" Moira smiled.

They'd met at the planned rendezvous, at the planned time, but not in the planned way, Tracer, patched up, her pistols out, Widowmaker, her rifle ready, Oilliphéist, slightly less than ready, now much less so, conflicted, and afraid.

"Tracer," Emily said, hoping, " _Lena_ \- we have a plan. We can just leave, don't... please don't..."

"I... I..." said Tracer, struggling, trying, and failing. She shot the shape of Moira's head into the wall behind O'Deorain, a striking image in bullet holes, not one touching one hair on the scientist's head.

Moira turned, and looked. "Oh, that is good. Your aim has improved so much, it's just delightful."

"If it wasn't for you, Winston would still be alive, and I... will... _kill_..."

The scientist's shoulders slumped a little. "I am truly sorry about that - he had an extraordinary mind. I will miss it." She turned back to the Overwatch agent, looking at her with sympathy. "And he was all you had. After all - you don't remember your mother, do you, child?"

"My... mother?" Lena struggled with herself. She could aim. She thought maybe she could even punch if she could get close enough. But the trigger, god, the trigger, just pull already.

"Of course not. You, like so many other Omnic war orphans, no mothers, no fathers... like Emily, no one ever there for her, after her parents died... it's so sad, it leaves such a big hole. How could I _not_ fill it - particularly now, with you, after what's happened?"

Emily blinked, dismayed, confused, "But... you were always... I remember... Reyes was... right? You're _not_ my aunt?!"

"Of _course_ I am, dear!" Moira said, with surprising sweetness, as Tracer snarled, and struggled, desperate, fear in her eyes. _C'mon, damn you, acquire, sight, pull the fucking trigger..._

"I remember _everything_ you remember - and more! Things you don't remember, now, but you will, once I remind you. Oh," she waved a hand nonchalantly, "I suppose I didn't six months ago, but I do now. I'm your _aunt_ now, and I always have been. That's what matters."

"You... do? You are?"

"The only difference is that I remember that I didn't always remember." The geneticist smiled. "I always experiment on myself, first, niece. Anything else would be unethical! So, now, I've always been there for you - just like I'll always have been there for _her_."

Widowmaker held her rifle at headshot. "Stop it, Moira. Now."

Moira beamed at the sniper. "Oh, my daughter's lovely wife, you too? Don't be silly. You can't kill me - we'll have been such friends, all along."

"If there's anything I am very, very good at, it is killing people."

"Yes! So wonderfully better than I'd expected. And yet..." She spread her hands wide. "Go ahead."

"I..." The first assassin did not shake, not to the untrained eye, but someone who truly understood her would know, would see, muscle fighting against muscle, nerve against nerve, at deadlock.

"Aunt Moira..." Oilliphéist asked, and, for the first time since Lena had met her, lacked any hint of euphoria in her voice. "You said you wouldn't touch Widowmaker. Not her mind."

"I didn't touch her, Emily! I changed nothing. Or, well, almost nothing. Just this. And a few other things, I suppose, but nothing involving her love of you."

"You said you wouldn't _touch_ her."

"I know, dear, and I haven't, much. Don't worry - they'll both be so happy, just like you. Come on, help me - we'll need to sedate them both, and I didn't think I'd need my darts."

"You said," she said, raising her rifle with a hint of anger, "you wouldn't. touch. her."

"Don't be so dramatic, niece. Your loyalty is absolute! I made sure of that."

Oilliphéist thought about it, still a little confused but a lot less conflicted, and her face calmed. She nodded, and lowered her rifle just a little, looking over the sight, rather than through it. "...yes. You're right. It is," she said, as her counterparts despaired.

"See?" smiled Moira, turning back to her other two weapons. "I promise, you'll all be together, and so happy, just like her. There's nothing to worry..."

"To Widowmaker." And Oilliphéiest raised and fired, a perfect shot, clean, nothing left to chance, a shot recalculated a hundred times a second as only she and her lover could hope to manage. As the red mist which had been Moira's head showered beautifully across the room - the special product of one of Emily's most special, hardest of hardlight rounds - Widowmaker and Tracer both shrieked, and fell to the ground.

Oilliphéist smiled at the pooling blood as her aunt's body fell, dead, feeling her euphoria return. "Don't worry, auntie," she said, softly. "We'll fix it. We'll take care of everything." She stepped over to her lover, and her lover's lover, and kissed both their heads. "C'mon, c'mon, loves, it's fine, it's all over. We've got this, now. It's ours. It's _all_ ours."

Widowmaker looked up, eyes pooling with tears, unable to speak, and Emily took her hand, kissing and nuzzling it. "I promise, love. She's gone. You can get up. Everything will be fine." She smiled at Tracer, and pulled her up, giving her a big hug. "You're so smart - you figured it all out, even before I did! I've really become quite fond of you, did you know that?" 

"You... you saved us..." managed Tracer, slowly, her head feeling as exploded as Moira's actually was.

Emily kissed the former Overwatch agent's forehead, gently. "I did! Isn't it wonderful?" She smiled again, broadly. "But come on, pull yourself together. We've got to call a board meeting."

"A... a... board meeting?" said Tracer, still so fuzzy, still so confused.

"Yes. It's been a very bad couple of months for everyone, and the rank and file will need reassurance. It's time we gave it to them, time to show Talon that someone's still in charge - and that this particular someone is us."

"No! We, we can't, we're not..."

"It's the only way! We certainly can't go to Overwatch now, and if we run, if we hand Talon over to the surviving board members, we'll never know when they're coming for us. And they will be - they'll _never_ give up." She ran a hand through Tracer's hair. "But if it's _ours..._ then... we'll always know."

Lena collapsed again, sobbing. "This, this, this can't be happening, oh god, Winston, this..."

"Lena! C'mon, get up. I need you. _We_ need you. _Danielle_ needs you." She gestured over to their lover, still quietly sorting herself out, a few metres away. " _Widowmaker_ needs you."

"Yes... No, I, I...?" She looked lost, so deeply, deeply lost, eyes unfocused, looking a thousand metres away. "What... what did she _do_... to... am I me? Who... who am I?"

"Lena. Look at me. Look at me, luv." She snapped her fingers, by her eyes. "Look at me. You're still you, I swear." Lena's eyes darted up, copper meeting silver. "Here," she said, pulling the pistols she'd made from their holders. "Hold these. Hold them tightly. Let them tell you." She pressed the pistols into Lena's hands, and Lena took them, automatically. " _Château_."

"Châteauneuf-du-Pape," Lena responded, before she could think, and shuddered, almost a spasm, involuntary, water in her eyes.

"Good girl. It's okay. Stay with me. Vaucluse."

"Signal de Saint-Pierre," she responded, again, through horror, through growing tears.

"Lavande."

"Parfum de Provence," she responded, a third time, crying uncontrollably, but somehow feeling more complete, less fractured, more whole.

"Propriétés."

"Frontière Italienne." She shook. _I'm just remembering it, I'm just remembering it..._

"Les éléphants"

"Palmier" _Oh no, oh no, no, I'm not..._

"Oliveraie."

"Montpellier." She closed her eyes, surrendered to it. "...how long have you known?"

"I didn't - not for sure, not until just now. Open your eyes. Look at me. Carcassonne."

"She's..." blinked Widowmaker, looking up. "She's..."

"Yes, beloved. She is. And she needs re-centring. _Carcassonne._ "

"Aéroport," Lena said, quietly.

"Livraison," Emily said, encouragingly. "C'mon. Livraison."

"Metro," she whispered. "Metro."

"Centre météorologique canadien," said Oilliphéist.

"Armoiries," she said, closing her eyes and reopening them, a moment later.

"I _see_ you," said the once-ginger.

"I see _you_ ," said the once-Tracer.

Oilliphéist smiled. "How do you feel?"

"I feel..." She stepped up, took Oilliphéist into her arms, and kissed her, fiercely. "I feel..." She closed her eyes, and reopened them, calmer, more in control. "...sad. So, so... sad. But better."

"What we just did, it didn't change you - it just... collected you. Your mind knows you're still you, and this shows you haven't been changed since you woke up. You're still Lena, just... you have the basic framework, and the bias shift you've found, and probably not much else that matters, now that Moira's gone. Do you understand?"

"No," she shuddered. "How long has this been... part of me?"

"Probably since Oasis. I watched her, I swear, I know how this works, I was there the first time, and I don't know how she did it - but... she did. But nothing major's loaded. That was... pretty clearly next."

Widowmaker stepped over, and reached out to Lena, but stopped, just short. "Is it... safe to touch you? I, I need, and I think you need..."

Lena threw herself against her lover, sobbing, "hold me, hold me, hold me, please..." and Danielle did, pulling her against herself, tight, bringing Emily in as well, nuzzling gently into her lovers' hair.

"Always."


	26. everything we wanted, but nothing we deserved

_[2078]_

"Hey, Winston. Been a while."

Lena put the jar of peanut butter she'd been carrying on her best friend's gravestone.

"I miss you, big guy. I wish..."

She shuddered a little, sniffing, trying not to start crying, and failing. The tears were always close to the surface, if she let herself think too much about certain things, and certain people.

She wiped her eyes. "Remember how you said, you said, when I came back, you'd never really forgive yourself? I guess... I guess you're not alone in that. God, Winston, I'm, I'm sorry... I didn't ... want ... I..."

Discreetly, at distance, Widowmaker put her hand on Oilliphéist's chest, stopping her from going to comfort her counterpart - "Non, ma chérie, she needs this" - as Lena fell to her knees, sobbing at the grave, unconsolable.

Emily let herself be restrained, and leaned her head against Danielle's shoulder. There were still emotions she didn't fully understand, and never would, but she knew when to trust her lover's instincts. "She hurts, so much. I wish we could just _fix_ it."

Danielle shook her head, no. "She needs that, too. As much as she needs us."

Back at the gravesite, Lena pulled herself together, a bit, not entirely, not entirely well, but well enough. "The world's at peace, luv - at least, of a sort. There's that. Akande really was going to start another Omnic Crisis, and we really did stop that, but," she wiped her nose, "...god, I'm not sure it was worth it."

She cried some more, sitting at the foot of the large, flat stone, petting it, as if her friend could feel it, or know. "It's funny, innit? Sometimes the way to stop a big fight is t'start a bunch of small ones? Keeps humanity challenged, keeps the rest of the board happy, stops 'em from tryin' anything..." She snorted. "Not that they'd win."

"We're about to go start a mess in the States, some damn place called Arkansas, between a couple of factions of radical anti-Omnics tryin' t'get things started up their own way... Overwatch'll try to stop us, but it's too late, even if we vanished tomorrow it'd still happen, we're just gonna push over a domino and by the time it's over, there'll be a lot of people dead, but a lot fewer than..."

She shuddered. "...oh god I wish you were here t' stop me. Talk me out of it, yell at me, tell me there's some deals y'just don't make, hell, even beat me up, something, anything, I wouldn't even care, just... just... _be_...." and the sobs returned, tears and water everywhere, and she cried, and cried, until she couldn't, not anymore.

Only when she was quiet, hand still on the gravestone, but unmoving, slumped over, did Danielle and Emily walk up to her, slowly, Widowmaker - Widowmaker, who understood more than anyone else could - crouching down beside her lover, taking her in her arms. "It's all right, ma chérie."

"Nah," sniffed Tracer, letting herself be embraced. "It's... it's really not."

"I know."

"It never will be."

"I know."

"But I love y'for saying it anyway."

"I love you more than even I can know."

Tracer smiled, a little, and snerked, her nose a mess. "Got a tissue or something? I guess I..."

"Here," said Emily, softly. "Here y'are."

"Thanks, love." She stood, Widowmaker standing with her, and shook herself out, blinking her copper eyes free of tears. _At least,_ she thought, _there's us. At least there's that._ "God, I love you both so much. Thanks for... puttin' up with me, I guess."

Danielle chuckled, softly, nuzzling her lover's hair, and Emily laughed a gentle laugh, saying, "I'm so glad you're with us."

"So'm I. Come on," she said, after a moment, shaking out her arms, wearing just a bit more than a ghost of a smile. "Let's go." She felt herself warm at the thought of the fighting to come, and her pulse quickened as she grinned, freely. "We have a war to start."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you very much for reading. *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧\\(◕‿◕)/*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧
> 
>  
> 
> * * *
> 
>  
> 
> To even my surprise... 
> 
> ...there will be more.
> 
> It is not a strict sequel. It is an AU to this AU, where the events in the second half of the previous chapter go differently, where Moira lives, and wins, and moves to the next phase of her plans.
> 
> It is called, collectively, _Of Gods and Monsters_ , and is a joint project of me (solarbird) and bzarcher. [You'll need to subscribe to the _collection_ , not the individual entries](https://archiveofourown.org/series/972024), to follow it in order.
> 
> And it starts with "[Edda 1: Bronze-eyed Mercy](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14017863)."
>
>> _Bright-eyed Angela leaped, severe_   
>  _from blazing dawn, brandishing her spear;_   
>  _the nations routed by her savage cry,_   
>  _until she laughed, alighted in the sky,_   
>  _she put aside her helmet, shield and spear,_   
>  _and called, "At last - your gods are here!"_   
> 
> 
> You thought this story was fucked up? Buckle in, nerds - 'cause shit's gonna get weird.


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